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AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 
WITH THE OLDER BOYS 


MARGARET W. EGGLESTON 



AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 
WITH THE OLDER BOYS 


BY 

MARGARET W. EGGLESTON 

Author of “Fireside Stories for Girls in their 
Teens,” “The Use of the Stcry in Religious 
Education,” etc. 


NEW 



YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




COPYRIGHT, 1921, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


V/ 



\ 



J 


DEC 28 19?! rv 

©GU653251 V_. 




TO 


HENRY AND JAMES 

TWO OF MY “OLDER BOYS” 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BECAUSE 
OF THEIR GREAT LOVE FOR HEARING 
AND THEN RETELLING THE BEST OF STORIES 








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✓ 



t 































PREFACE 


Would you make a list of the great men who have 
been a source of power and strength to the nations of 
the world! In the list you will find warriors and 
leaders, kings and peasants, poets and musicians. And 
among the greatest of the men you will find the story- 
tellers. In the days of the nomads, the two who were 
accounted greatest were the chief and the story-teller. 
In the ancient world, he was given a place of honor 
in the life of the people. Among the Hebrews, there 
came the world’s greatest story-teller — Jesus, the 
Christ. 

Always the story-teller has been a chosen vessel to 
carry the best that there was in history and literature 
and romance ; and because he carried the best and gave 
unstintingly, he has been an important character in 
the world’s history. Many of our greatest authors and 
teachers have been story-tellers. Many of our greatest 
men have been influenced by story-telling mothers and 
fathers. And still the story lives and works in the 
lives of the people of today. 

In this tmie of stress and strife following the 
Great War, there is need of an army of story-tellers. 
The ideals of the nation have been lowered in many 
ways and those who are to make up the strength of 
the nation in the days that are ahead are in the groups 
of boys and girls who are in our schools, our Camp- 
vii 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


fire and Scout troops. They are also in the great mass 
of boys and girls who walk the streets and frequent the 
cheap amusements because they have nothing else to do. 
They are eager for stories — watch them flock to the 
moving-picture shows to see a story if you wish proof 
of this fact. 

In every High School, in every community club, in 
every boys’ club of whatever name, in every girls’ club 
in our land, in every church and every home, there is 
need of the story-teller to help to conserve the best 
that we can find in the literature and life of yesterday 
and today. 

And for what do these older boys and girls seek? 
They seek a way; they seek the truth; they seek a life 
that is rich and abundant. They seek a hero, a mate, 
a living and a home. 

And who shall the hero be? A train robber or a 
great soul ? Who shall the mate be ? A girl who has the 
lowest or the highest ideals in her life? And what 
sort of a living shall they make? One judged by 
the ideals of men or of God? And what kind of a 
home shall they make? One that sends out into the 
world great men and women or one that has its end 
in the divorce court? Who shall guide them in this 
great search? 

So much depends on whose stories they learn to 
love. Those of the street, those of the cheap story 
book, those of the careless mind — or those of the great 
masters of literature, those of the real teacher, those 
of the Scout Master who to them is like a big brother. 

Our boys are waiting for our leaders to show them 


PREFACE 


ix 


the way to the abundant life. They are waiting for 
them to place in their minds ideals that shall drive out 
the less noble ones and create the desire for the good 
and true. 

To be a great Scout leader or a leader of a boys’ 
class is a wonderful opportunity. To be a teacher plus 
a story-teller is to double one’s power for helping and 
keeping the boys. 

The vow of the men of the Round Table still is 
full of meaning for those who would study stories 
needed by the older boys : 

“To reverence the king, as if he were 
Their conscience, and their conscience as their king; 
To break the heathen and uphold the Christ; 

To ride abroad redressing human wrongs; 

To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it; 

To honor his own word as if his God’s; 

To lead sweet lives in purest chastity; 

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 

And worship her by years of noble deeds.” 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Tony’s Sacrifice .... 




# 

i3 

A Hero of Armenia . 





19 

The Boy Who Would Not Go 

Back 




25 

Tim, the Elevator Boy . 





3i 

The Love of Tigranes 





37 

The Winner . 





41 

He Saved Others 





47 

I Shall Lead . 





53 

The Old Flag . 





57 

The Searchers .... 





59 

His Chance 





65 

The Love of a Mother 





7i 

The Graduation Gift 





77 

The Volunteers .... 





83 

That He May Please Him 





87 

They Shall Not Pass 





93 

The Lesson of the “Odyssey” 





97 

On the Mountain Top 





101 

His Bible Lesson 





107 

The Courage of a Refugee 





113 

His Penance .... 





121 

The Sphinx 





125 

The Safe Choice 





*3* 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 
WITH THE OLDER BOYS 






















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AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 
WITH THE OLDER BOYS 


TONY’S SACRIFICE 

D OWN in one of the alleys in the north end of 
Brooklyn there lived a boy named Tony. His 
father was a ditch-digger. His mother was a wash- 
woman, and his only sister was cash-girl in a big 
department store. 

Even Tony had to help to earn the living for the 
family, for he was almost fourteen years of age, so 
he blacked shoes and sold newspapers and then went 
to school when no work was to be done. Soon he 
could have his working papers, and Tony thought often 
of the day when they should come. 

Did he want them? Indeed he did not. Tony 
loved the school teacher who had been so kind to him 
and so often gave him parts of her dainty lunch. He 
liked the sunshiny room and the clean floor. He liked 
the stories that Miss Gray told almost every day. No, 
Tony was in no hurry to have the papers come. 

His home was on the sixth floor of a tenement, and 
it wasn’t a very beautiful home. Mother had so much 
to do that she couldn’t keep it clean. Father drank 
*3 


14 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


often and much, so there was no money to spend in 
making it cozy. Sister wasn’t often to be found at 
home, for she liked better to spend her evenings on 
the street. So, of course, Tony didn’t care much about 
home. 

But he did care very much about the back yard of 
his home. Why? Because there, in a drygoods box, 
lived Bobs, his yellow dog. Now Bobs was only a 
mongrel dog — just a street waif about whom no one 
cared until he was adopted by Tony. But now he 
knew that he was the finest dog in the world. Tony 
had said so, and Tony knew. 

It had been a case of love at first sight between the 
boy and the dog. Bobs had licked the heel of Tony’s 
foot one day because he wanted a bit of the big sand- 
wich that Tony was eating. So the boy and the dog 
had sat down together on -a doorstep and shared the 
lunch. Since that day the love had grown steadily 
until finally they were always together when they could 
possibly be. For Bobs was the only thing in the whole 
world that showed love for the lonely Tony. 

It was a beautiful day, late in October, when Tony 
read in the morning paper that a dog-tax was about to 
be levied on all town dogs, and that any caught with- 
out a tag would be taken away. Oh, oh, how fast 
his heart thumped as he read it! What could he do? 
He had no money, yet he must protect Bobs. 

All night long Tony tossed and tumbled. Plans 
came into his mind that might do — but each would give 
him so little money. He would help at the restaurant ; 


TONY’S SACRIFICE 


15 


he would carry bundles ; he would even run errands for 
the ugly woman down the street. Bobs must have a 
tag. 

So while Bobs pulled at his chain in the back yard, 
Tony worked to earn the money and the days passed 
by. Every night, when it grew so dark that no one 
could see him, he went down by the old box-house and, 
with Bobs in his lap, snuggling as close to Tony as 
ever he could, he counted the precious nickels and dimes. 
One dollar — two dollars — two dollars and fifty cents — 
and finally there was the whole of the three dollars 
needed for the tax. 

Then, with a glad heart, he took the homely yellow 
dog that was so beautiful to him and started for the 
collector’s office. Down the long street, up to the city 
hall, and then across the street again he went. Bobs 
was very heavy, yet he dared not let him down. An 
officer might take him away if he were running on 
the street. 

The street was full of moving vehicles but Tony 
didn’t mind. He was used to dodging here and there 
as he sold his papers. So he hurried along. Then 
suddenly he saw something that made him rush for- 
ward with a scream. An old lady had stepped from 
behind a carriage right in front of a swift automobile. 

Quickly he grasped her arm and tried to pull her 
aside. It only took a second, but in that second Tony 
was struck by the automobile and Bobs, whom he was 
holding under his arm, was badly bruised. Quickly 
passers-by carried them all to the curbing — the old lady 


16 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


faint but only very much frightened, Tony with the 
broken body, and the bloody little yellow dog. 

Down on the grass they laid the boy. How his head 
ached! How his left leg was hurting! Where were 
they taking him? Everyone was so far away. Sup- 
pose they should leave him all alone! 

Suddenly he heard someone say: 

“ ’Tis a quick matter to shoot the dog when once 
the policeman gets here. I wish he would hurry, for 
he is bound to get near to the boy.” 

Then Tony remembered. Bobs was there, and Bobs 
must be hurt. He tried to lift his hand to motion to 
someone, but it would not lift. He tried to call to 
someone, but his voice sounded far away and no one 
heard. He struggled to make someone see, but no one 
looked his way except a little yellow dog. It saw, and, 
with a howl of pain, it sprang across the curbing, 
snarling and growling at those who would keep it back. 

It pushed its way close to the boy. It licked Tony’s 
face. It pulled at his clothes. Then it crept very, 
very close inside the thin, ragged coat. Just a tiny bit 
the hand of the boy moved, but it covered a tiny bit 
of the dog, and both were content. 

When the ambulance came, Big Tim, the policeman, 
looked at the two. Then a tear rolled down his brown 
cheek as he said: 

“Maybe it is the best friend the little feller ever had. 
We will take him along and, while the doctors help the 
boy, I’ll help the dog. Any boy who loves a dog is 
worth while saving. Hurry along.” 


TONY’S SACRIFICE 


17 


So while the doctors bandaged the boy, Bobs was 
bandaged by big Tim until he was more bandage than 
dog. He growled at all others, but Tim could do with 
him what he would and they spent many hours to- 
gether. He would be a sorry-looking dog, Tim knew, 
when once he was well again, but, at least, he would be 
alive for Tony. 

Many days later, a boy who looked as if he were 
eleven but who really was almost fifteen opened his 
eyes in the ward of a big hospital. The fever was 
gone and he had been thinking for a long time. So 
when the nurse came to give him his morning wash he 
began to ask questions. How had he been hurt? 
Where was his dog ? But no one knew a thing about 
the thing he most wanted to know. No yellow dog 
had been brought to the hospital; no one had heard 
that one had been killed. 

So he lay there white and sad, not even interested 
to know that a big policeman had come to inquire for 
him every day and was wanting to see him. Probably 
he was going to scold him for making so much trouble. 
Could you have been very close to him, you would have 
heard him saying over and over: 

“My Bobs! My little Bobs! How I wish I could 
have you back! You were always so good to me, 
Bobsy. How can I ever go home without you? Oh, 
how lonely the yard will be! Oh, Bobs!” 

About noon he felt the nurse at the bedside, so he 
turned wearily over and opened his eyes to see what 
she wanted. But he looked right into the face of a 


18 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


little yellow mongrel dog. His leg was bandaged, his 
ear was bandaged, and his coat looked very rough and 
torn. But his eyes were the most beautiful eyes in 
all the world and the lap of his tongue was worth more 
than bags of gold. 

Tony gave a cry of joy and Bobs gave a bark of joy. 
Then they snuggled down with heads together and both 
were happy. Big Tim stood at the foot of the bed, 
but Tony didn’t see him. So Tim whispered to the 
nurse : 

“Ain’t that one pretty love story? I sure am glad 
that a lonely boy can have a yellow dog sometimes. 
I’ll come back later and get my patient when they have 
loved each other for a while. I’d like to own a yellow 
dog myself, if he would love me like that. A yellow 
dog and a real boy would just suit me fine. Maybe — 
now maybe some day I can own a share in those two. 
Um-m! I’d like to.” 

And Big Tim felt almost as happy as he left the 
ward as did Tony and Bobs. 


A HERO OF ARMENIA 


I T WAS noon-time of a hot, sultry day in the sum- 
mer of nineteen-twenty. The sun poured its rays 
unmercifully down upon a little group of villagers 
far back in the hills of Armenia. All morning they 
had stood in the one little corner, guarded by three 
fierce Turks. When the little children had been rest- 
less, they had felt the lash of their whips. When the 
women had tried to sit down, they had been trampled 
by the feet of their horses. 

But worse than the lash of their whip or the heat 
of the sun had been the dread as to what was to hap- 
pen to them all. They had been forced from their 
homes because someone had told that they were 
Christians. Over and over during the day their keep- 
ers had cursed them as such. The faces of the women 
grew pale and the faces of the men grew hard as the 
hours went by. 

There came a tramp of feet and a score of Turks 
were seen hurrying toward them. With hatred in their 
faces, they drew forth the little band, first to swear at 
them and then to torture them. 

Among the rest of the Christians was Aram, a boy 
of fifteen. He was strong of limb and strong of heart. 
Since his father’s death two years before he had cared 


19 


20 AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 

for his mother and now, with all the thoughtfulness 
of a man, he pushed her to the rear and stepped be- 
tween her and the Turk. Not unnoticed was his act 
and a great arm caught him and pulled him to the front. 

“So you want to be first, do you? Well, you shall. 
Stand there where we can all see you. Are you a 
Christian?” asked the Turk. 

“I am, sir,” said the boy, faint with fear. 

“A strong one?” asked the Turk. 

“I hope so,” answered the boy. 

“Well, you had better not be a strong one,” said his 
captor. “You are to become a Mohammedan. Do 
you understand? Are you ready to change?” 

“No, sir,” said Aram. “I am not ready to change. 
That I will never do. I am a Christian.” 

“Ha, ha! We will see whether that is true or not. 
Boys often change their minds, you know.” Then he 
turned to a soldier near him and said with an oath: 
“Give it to him. Begin at once.” 

Quickly the soldiers surrounded the boy and one 
drew from his robe a pair of pincers. Grasping the 
right hand of the boy, he tore the nails forcibly from 
two of the fingers. There was a scream of pain from 
the boy and a cry of sorrow from the mother, as the 
soldier dropped the wounded hand. 

Aram heard the cry. Turning quickly he looked 
bravely into the face of his mother and said, 

“Never mind, my mother. I shall be brave. I shall 
remember father, no matter what they do to me.” 

“Are you ready now, you dog of a Christian?” 


A HERO OF ARMENIA 


21 


screamed the Turk, snatching the boy by the shoulder. 

“No, sir,” answered the boy. “I am still a Chris- 
tian.” 

Quickly two more nails were torn off, then two from 
his left hand and then more till none were left. But 
still the boy stood firm. Almost the Turk admired 
him for his bravery. But his orders had been : “Tor- 
ture till they turn Mohammedan,” so he cursed and 
swore and lashed the boy with his whip, while the little 
group of villagers dared not say a word. 

“Take him to the posts,” cried the Turk. “He shall 
turn though it takes the whole afternoon to make him 
do it.” 

Four soldiers hurried forward and drove four up- 
right posts about four feet high into the ground. Then 
they dragged the boy near to them, stripped him of 
his clothing and tied him across the top of the four 
sticks, two hands to two of the posts, two feet to the 
other two. After all was done, they stood back to 
laugh and jeer. 

Straight into his face beamed the burning sun like 
coals of fire. His body seemed blistering. His hands 
ached with pain. There seemed flies innumerable to 
add to his torment. Oh, how his head did ache ! The 
moments seemed hours to the tortured boy. 

Yet even as he hung there, he seemed to see the pale 
face of his father as he had gathered his little family 
together on the last night of his life when he knew he 
was to be put to death by the Turks on the morrow. 
Looking straight into Aram’s eyes he had said: 


AROUND THE CAMP EIRE 


“Better to die than to be a coward, Aram. God 
does not forsake those who trust in Him. Sometimes 
to die is gain. Never deny your God in these hard 
days that are ahead of you. I can trust you, I know.” 

So courage came back into his heart and he breathed 
the prayer that father had taught him to say as a boy : 
“Help me to be brave and true. Keep near me every 
hour.” 

And as he said the words, the heat seemed less in- 
tense and the pain more easily borne. 

At the end of a half hour the Turk came again to 
the side of the boy and asked, 

“Are you ready now?” 

And the boy answered softly: 

“I am still a Christian.” 

Oh, how angry the Turk became ! His face seemed 
livid with rage. To have a boy defy him seemed more 
than he could stand. Raising high his great sword, he 
screamed : 

“Change or die! You may have one minute. 
Change, I tell you.” 

But only a smile answered his rage as the boy said 
thoughtfully : 

“To die is easier than to change. Father and I will 
both have died Christians and mother will not fail 
us when her turn comes. I will never change.” 

Down came the sword and the soldiers hacked the 
body in pieces in their rage. The little group cowered 
in the corner expecting them to kill them also. For a 


A HERO OF ARMENIA 


23 


second the Turk hesitated. Then turning to his men 
he said: 

“What a Turk he would have made! Mohammed 
needs such as he. Go home. Another day will do for 
the rest.” And he went his way. 

But before that “other day” had come, the English 
had come and the Turks had fled. So today, in that 
little Armenian village far back in the hills, Aram’s 
mother lives alone. But she looks with pride at things 
made with a boyish hand that still stay about the hum- 
ble room and she says gently to her visitor : 

“Those belonged to my Aram. He and his father 
both died Christians and I would not have it different. 
They were faithful even unto death.” 




THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT GO BACK 


T HE schoolmaster was hard and cruel; the boy 
was thoughtful and sensitive; and so there was 
trouble in that little country school in England in 
the days before our Revolutionary War. When the 
lad misspelled a word which he had tried hard to 
master, the rod was laid across his back, though he 
knew he had honestly tried. When the book could 
not be bought on time because there was no ready 
money in the home, then he was forced to do hours 
of school work outside of school hours. At these 
times something within him cried over and over : “It is 
not fair. It is not fair.” 

Often he was punished with the rod for his refusal 
to tell on the other boys. He longed for an education 
yet he could endure no longer the taunts and threats 
and beatings of the schoolmaster. So Francis Asbury 
left school when he was but thirteen years of age. He 
found work that he could do and, as the days went by, 
began to think himself quite a man. After all, he de- 
cided, it was great fun to be rid of the monotony of 
school. Thus he became a drifter. 

But Henry Ward Beecher came to his home town. 
All boys love a hero and from the tales he had heard 
of Beecher, Francis thought him to be a hero. So he 
25 


26 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


eagerly sought an opportunity to hear him. Pushing 
his way to the very front seat, he listened as Beecher 
told of the value of a life and especially of the great, 
great value of a boy’s life. He told of the need of the 
world for boys who were making their lives worth 
while. 

As the boy listened, he became ashamed of his own 
life; ashamed that he had left school; ashamed that he 
had had no great ambition. As Mr. Beecher told of 
the power that God had in helping a boy to make and 
keep a purpose clear in his life, he knew that he wanted 
to find God. 

“If you would build a great character, you must 
build with God. If you would be a great man, you 
must begin by being a great boy,” said Mr. Beecher 
in closing. “Find a purpose and then work toward it.” 

Surely Francis Asbury carried the message in his 
heart as he left the room for, looking up into the heav- 
ens full of beautiful stars, he said quietly to himself 
at the end of the homeward walk: 

“Some way, some time, somewhere I will serve if 
He will but show me the way. I must grow.” 

And the resolution stayed with him. Fie began to 
read good books; he studied his Bible to see what 
God’s will might be. He prayed earnestly to God to 
show him the way and the means by which he might 
get ready to serve. He hunted for little things that he 
might do to help to make the world a better place. He 
found the church a helpful place so he gave good serv- 
ice there. 


THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT GO BACK 27 


As he grew in knowledge and in character, of course, 
his opportunities for service became more numerous. 
Soon he was appointed a lay-preacher in the Methodist 
Church and was sent to the neighboring villages to 
teach and preach. He came to know the great Wes- 
leys who were doing so much for the church in Eng- 
land and their lives were an inspiration to him in mak- 
ing his own more worth while. As he went, he em- 
phasized over and over the message that Beecher had 
given to him : 

“A boy’s life ought to be worth while.” 

Sometimes the way was very hard and his friends 
tried to get him to do a different kind of work. But 
he had found a purpose and was working toward it. 
He had no wish to turn back. 

Now America was under the rule of England and in 
America there was great unrest over some laws that 
England had made. The church saw the need of min- 
isters to go and help in the crisis and they sent John 
Wesley about England calling for volunteers to go to 
America. It was a dangerous trip to take for the 
boats were small and a whole month must be spent on 
the way. 

“They need strong young men who are ready to 
serve in a hard place,” said Wesley. 

“Perhaps this is my ‘Somewhere/ ” said Francis 
Asbury to himself. So he rose in his place in the 
church and said: 

“I will go to America and help if you will take me.” 

He was an only child and to leave home and mother 


28 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


for a land where the salary would be very small and 
the sacrifices very great took real courage. But he 
felt that perhaps this was his opportunity, so very soon 
he was on his way as a missionary to America. He 
was glad in his heart that his time had come to really 
serve. 

On the way across the Atlantic there were severe 
storms and many were ill, so he began immediately to 
help others. He told stories to the children; he cared 
for the sick; he cheered those who were fearful of the 
storm. His seemed to be an errand of mercy. 

First he went to work in Philadelphia and later to 
New York City, then a scattered settlement. Every- 
where there was discontent, so his new work was very 
difficult. But he bought himself a horse, for there were 
no railroads, and went from place to place preaching 
and teaching. He planted churches wherever he 
could; he brought comfort and cheer where there was 
an opportunity. Always he seemed to be trying to 
make his life worth while. So many miles he trav- 
eled that he came to be known as the “Prophet of the 
Long Road.” 

Finally, after much talk and trouble, war was de- 
clared and persecution began. The colonists distrust- 
ed every Englishman and his life was often in danger. 
Other ministers closed their churches and went back 
to England. Letters kept coming from his friends at 
home begging him to return. Sometimes he was pelted 
with stones when he was doing his best to help and 
then he longed for home. 


THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT GO BACK 29 


What ought he to do? Did he not owe it to his 
mother to leave America while yet he could? Should 
he go back and work in England? He wanted to go, 
yet he felt that he ought to stay. 

Now Francis Asbury had a habit of asking God to 
help him in his difficulties so, after a pleading letter 
had come from England telling him how much he was 
needed there, both at home and in the church, he went 
alone into the quiet of the woods and prayed to God. 

“Show me the way,” he prayed. “Show me the way 
to make my life most helpful. Show me thy way, O 
God!” 

And in the quiet of the wood he heard this answer : 

“Who will be my shepherd if all go?” 

He bowed his head and thought of all that this 
decision would mean. It was the hard way and only 
too well he knew what sacrifices it would mean. Then 
he prayed again: 

“I will stay and be a shepherd, Lord, but I need help. 
Stand by me and help me to stand by the task.” 

So the good shepherd stayed and during those hard 
days that followed, he gave much, he suffered much 
and he received much, for the people came to know 
and to love him as he gave of himself for the work. 
They knew that they could trust him so he found many, 
many ways of easing their worries and of making 
them see the right decisions. 

When the war was over and the churches were once 
more busily at work, it was decided to appoint over 
them a bishop who could lead them out in their great. 


30 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


new work. And who should it be? A man could be 
sent from England, but he would not be able to win 
them soon. In all the church there was only one who 
knew the people, and the field, and the need. That 
man was the one who could work, who could trust, who 
could stay when others fled — Francis Asbury. 

So he became the first American Bishop of the 
Methodist Church in America and much of its early 
growth was due to his work. Though many, many 
years have gone by since then, his name is still a very 
honored one in the history of Methodism. Much has 
been written of his life and work and he is held up 
to the boys of Methodism as the boy who found a 
purpose and then would not turn back. A great name 
is that of Francis Asbury. 


TIM, THE ELEVATOR BOY 


T IM’S face was so covered with freckles that you 
could scarcely find a clear place upon it. His 
hair was short and stubby and would never stay where 
he wanted it to stay. His nose was red and homely. 
Perhaps, if you had met him on the street, you would 
have said that he was an awkward, queer-looking boy. 

But Tim had eyes that sparkled and shone and made 
you want to know him better. He had a smile that 
began with a little twitch of the lips and then rippled 
all over his face. And his laugh — oh! his laugh was 
as good as a bowl of sunshine. 

Tim was an elevator boy in a dye factory and his 
car was used by one great wing of the place. Up and 
down, up and down he carried workers, overseers and 
officers, and all loved Tim because of his cheery dis- 
position and winning smile. 

Tim’s clothes were shabby; his knowledge of the 
world was very, very limited and his knowledge of the 
English language more limited still. Yet his “Good 
morning” was an event in everyone’s day. 

“My, my! Ain’t you glad to be alive today?” he 
called cheerily to Mary Flynn just before seven o’clock 
one morning. “Look at that er sunshine. Don’t it 
make yer want ter shine, too? Come in, Mary. Let 
me put yer up higher where the air is jest great.” 

31 


32 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


“Good morning, Doc,” he called to the company 
doctor. “The top of the marning to yer. That er 
posy in yer buttonhole makes yer look grand. Every 
sick un will like to stay by yer terday, Doc. But then 
they always do that. Good-by and good luck terday.” 

When Matie Mack came to the elevator door she 
had in her hand a bunch of flowers for her desk in the 
upper room. But as she left the elevator, she slipped 
a tiny, red rosebud into the hand of the boy. 

“Bless yer kind heart,” he whispered. “I haint got 
any garden but a posy on me coat jest makes me happy 
all the day. Thank yer kindly fer remembering me. 
This er rosebud is sure a dandy.” 

So, one by one, the workers were landed at their 
day’s work and Tim finally had time to glance at the 
morning papers which had been handed to him. He 
couldn’t read them all but he loved to read what he 
could and to look at the pictures. So he sat in the 
car reading of a great train wreck when suddenly he 
heard a loud sound and then another. 

Then there came a terrific explosion and dirt, bricks 
and wood flew in all directions. The building trem- 
bled like a leaf and Tim cowered in one corner of the 
car. What could have happened? He was afraid to 
even stir. 

As soon as ever he dared, he crept to the door and 
what a sight met his eyes. One great building was 
in ruins, another was in flames and a part of the wing 
was gone in their own building. In some unknown 


TIM, THE ELEVATOR BOY 


33 


way a great tank of acid had exploded, people told 
him as they hurried by with white, set faces. 

Like a flash there came the realization that all that 
lay between the employees in his building and death 
was himself and his car. 

“May the good God help me,” he cried as he shut 
the door of the car and started up the swaying shaft. 
On every landing were screaming, anxious women. 
Could he ever get them down? Would they listen to 
him and go slowly? If they pushed and struggled, all 
would be lost. Quickly he thought it all out as he 
went up and when he reached the top floor he called 
cheerily : 

“Here I come fer ye. Ain’t it great to be in the 
building that is all right? Now if yer won’t push and 
only fifteen will come inter the car ter once, I kin get 
every one of yer down. But if yer push, then I’ll 
never come up agin after yer. Now I’ll see what yer 
will do. Only fifteen, remember. Twelve, thirteen, 
fourteen, fifteen. Full up. Now Aunt Becky, stay 
right there and watch fer me. Watch fer my red 
rose.” 

The shaft swayed and shook as, very slowly, he took 
the car down. But he sang cheerily from the foot 
of the shaft: 

“I’m cornin’. I’m cornin’. Tho’ me car is runnin’ 
slow.” 

The people watched him breathlessly as he tried to 
save them. Up and down and up and down he went. 
A great crash told him that more of the building had 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


collapsed and the heat from the burning buildings was 
intense. But over and over he said to himself as again 
he went up through the dangerous shaft: 

“Do yer best, Tim. Some of them folks has little 
uns at home. Yer must git them all down.” 

And the little red rose seemed to just be helping him 
for it was so bright and cheery every time he looked at 
it. One floor after another he emptied but the face of 
the elevator boy was becoming white and drawn. Sud- 
denly there was a scream of terror. The flames were 
spreading through the shaft and one more trip must 
be made. Women at the foot covered their faces with 
their hands and wept as they heard Tim say : 

“I guess she will hold fer another trip and I prom- 
ised them to come back fer them. There’s only five 
more up there and one of them is Matie Mack, the 
one what is so good ter me. Sure, I’m going up.” 

Oh! how slowly the car went! Oh! how ugly the 
flames looked as they licked the sides! The watchers 
below heard the door of the car open and a fervent 
“Thank God!” from one of the women. Then Tim’s 
merry voice again called out, though this time it was 
all of a tremble: 

“Now, here we go down. Ain’t yer glad ter be alive 
ter tell how yer went through the fire and wasn’t 
burned. Ain’t fire pretty, though? Sure the shaft will 
hold if we go slow. Jest* look at my red rosebud. 
Ain’t it one fine match fer my red hair ? Why, here we 
are, so soon. Now out with yer — and Mary — thanks 
agin fer my posy. It sure helped me a lot.” 


TIM, THE ELEVATOR BOY 


35 


A moment later everyone was looking for the ele- 
vator boy. On every tongue was the story of his brav- 
ery. But he wasn’t about the buildings and he wasn’t 
in the street. Where could he be ? 

Sitting on the steps of a little house in a back alley- 
way was a freckle-faced, red-haired boy. He was 
patting the head of a big yellow cat and saying : 

“ ’Twas great, Tom, jest great. Ain’t it good I 
wasn’t burned! My, I am glad I could help. But I 
don’t want folks ter thank me so I am goin’ ter sit out 
here with yer fer a spell.” 

And the big yellow cat rubbed against Tim’s knee 
and seemed to understand. 






















% 










THE LOVE OF TIGRANES 


M ANY, many years ago, more than five centuries 
before the Christ was born, there lived in Per- 
sia a very noted man. He was ruler of an empire ; he 
was owner of great wealth; he had almost unlimited 
power. He was called Cyrus and is known in history 
as the founder of the Persian Empire. 

Now Cyrus was eager for conquest so he sent his 
armies into all the neighboring countries to conquer. 
He had well trained men and many good generals so 
the Persian Empire grew and grew but still Cyrus 
was eager for more land and more power. 

Finally his armies went into Armenia and, in spite 
of the bravery and courage of the Armenians, Cyrus 
was victorious. He burned their homes ; he destroyed 
their fertile fields; he put many of the inhabitants to 
death. Then he chose a great group of the captives to 
be taken back to Persia as slaves in order to show how 
great had been his victory. 

There were many wealthy merchants, many great 
teachers, many noted warriors and many, many brave, 
strong, young men of Armenia. But at the very head 
of the line of captives to leave the land was the King 
of Armenia and his wife, the King’s son, Tigranes, and 
his wife with several royal children. 


37 


68 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


Oh, what a long, sad procession it was ! They were 
carrying what they could find to help to furnish their 
home in the new land. They had been so happy in 
Armenia and now all was lost. It was many weary 
miles to Persia and the burdens became heavier and 
their hearts sadder as they neared their new home. 

As Tigranes tried to find ways of helping his aged 
father and mother and his beautiful wife, his own 
deepest sorrow was that they must be prisoners and 
exiles. 

At last the long journey was over and the royal cap- 
tives were taken to one of the strongholds of the city 
to be kept there until it was decided what should be 
done with them. Day after day passed. The food was 
poor, the rooms were small and uncomfortable so the 
royal family were most unhappy. 

One morning, many days after they had been brought 
to Persia, they were summoned before the king. What 
did it mean? Were they to be put to death? Were 
they to be separated? Would the events of the day 
make them more unhappy still? 

Tigranes watched his beautiful wife as she dressed 
with care. She was so beautiful! He loved her so 
dearly! He was almost afraid to take her before the 
king. 

In one of the great rooms of the palace, Cyrus 
awaited the captives. It was hung with costly tapes- 
tries ; it was full of rare things brought from the con- 
quered countries. The air of the rooms was filled with 


THE LOVE OF TIGRANES 39 

costly perfumes. The king was dressed in all his beau- 
tiful robes for he wished to awe the prisoners. 

Slowly, but with great dignity, they came before the 
great Cyrus. One after another they bowed low be- 
fore the king in token of their servitude. Then Cyrus 
looked at them. 

The old king was bent with all his years of service 
for his people, but Tigranes stood before him with all 
the pride of the son of a king. And when Cyrus saw 
him, he admired him. 

“Tigranes,” said the king, “what shall your ransom 
be?” Long the king waited while Tigranes bowed 
his head in thought. 

“Tigranes,” said the king a second time, “what shall 
your ransom be?” 

Then the bowed head was slowly raised to the king 
and, placing an arm about the beautiful woman by his 
side, he said: 

“Oh, Cyrus, great King of Persia, do with me what 
you will, but spare the life of my beautiful wife and 
let her go back free to my country that she may give 
her life for our little ones. Gladly will I give my life 
and possessions as a ransom for her life.” 

Though Cyrus was a great warrior and a powerful 
ruler, yet he had a kindly, noble heart and he was deeply 
moved by the love of the prince. 

“Such nobleness and such love of man for woman 
shall not go unrequited,” he said. “You shall all be 
free and you, Tigranes, shall take your beautiful wife 
back to home and country as an appreciation of your 


40 AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 

own nobleness and loyalty. May others learn to love 
like you.” 

The royal family bowed low and kissed the hand of 
the king. Then Tigranes led the way from the pres- 
ence of the king. His face beamed with happiness as 
he looked at the lady by his side. They were free, 
free! 

‘‘And what thought you of Cyrus?” asked the father. 

“Did you note his majesty?” said the mother. 

“Such a beautiful room it was in which he received,” 
said one of the children. 

But the wife of Tigranes spoke no word. At last 
Tigranes said to her: 

“My wife, what thought you of the great king?” 

“The king? Why, I did not see him,” said she. 

“You did not see him! Where were your eyes that 
you did not see King Cyrus?” asked Tigranes. 

“Ah, my husband,” she said, laying her hand loving- 
ly on his arm and looking earnestly into his face, “I 
saw no man save the one who for love of me offered 
to lay down his life for me. My eyes and my heart 
had no room for anyone else. No king is more great 
or more noble than the one who for love’s sake has 
ransomed me. I saw no king.” 

So Tigranes and his wife went back to Armenia; 
and the world, after all these years, still loves the story 
of the royal lover. 


THE WINNER 


C LOSE by the side of a little brook that came 
tumbling from the green hillside sat a very dis- 
contented Indian boy. He was whittling a stick and 
talking to himself as he whittled. 

“I wish I knew how to get one. All the boys have 
them at the school. Jim earned his in football and 
George earned his by getting the best marks. Even 
Red Feather has a pin that the teacher gave him. I 
want a pin to wear and I want a brother but I don’t 
see how I am going to get either of them.” 

Lonely Cloud tapped his knife sharply against a 
nearby stone. He had been at the mission school for 
a whole year and now he was beginning to think that 
soon he should go back again for another year. This 
time he was to have a suit of clothes like the rest of 
the boys, and he was so glad, but he did want a pin 
to wear on the lapel of the new coat. 

4 ‘Every boy ought to have a brother,” said Lonely 
Cloud again. “Fun can’t be good fun here at home 
when there isn’t anyone to share it with you. At 
school I can get along but oh dear, I do want a brother 
and I do want a pin.” 

It was growing warmer, so he slipped nearer to the 
stream, put his feet into the water and, pulling a paper 
4i 


42 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


from his pocket, began to read. The story was inter- 
esting and for a few minutes he read steadily. 

Then suddenly he looked at his feet. 

“Why!” he gasped. “Why! how can that be? 
When I sat down here the water came only to my 
ankles and now it is much higher. How can that be ?” 

He looked about him but there was no one to answer 
the question for the men had gone to help a sick man 
nearby. Then a vague fear began to develop in his 
mind. Dropping his paper and knife, he ran quickly 
to the path and began to climb. Up and up and up he 
went. Then he came to the big dam on the hillside. 

Creeping down by the lower wall, he slid stealthily 
along until he came to the place where the sluiceway 
was to be found. Then he gave a cry of fear. The 
dam was giving way. One stone was loosened and 
others were showing signs of weakening. Behind that 
dam was a vast amount of water. How long would 
it hold back? What could he do to help? 

Creeping as fast as ever he could on the slippery 
moss, he came to the roadway again. Then he fairly 
flew to the house by the side of the dam where the 
keeper lived. 

“The sluiceway is breaking! Hurry, hurry!” he 
called. 

Then he ran down the steep hillside. The vines 
tripped him and he fell. A bit of sharp stone cut into 
his foot but on he ran, calling at every house: 

“The dam is giving way ! Hurry, hurry ! Run for 
your lives.” 


THE WINNER 


43 


Once lie stopped to look at the stream and he saw 
that it was deeper than before and still there were others 
to warn. If only the men were there to help him! 
His head ached and his breath came very fast. But 
on he ran. Finally he had told them all and a mes- 
senger had gone on horseback to the next town. 

Dazed in mind, he sat down for a moment to rest 
before starting across the plain to the Indian encamp- 
ment. As he looked, he was sure that he saw some- 
thing move on the opposite bank. Then a figure rose 
from the ground and from behind a tree a cow ap- 
peared. It was old Granny Bose and her cow. 

Oh, yes, he knew her. All the boys did, for she was 
always telling tales on them and getting them into 
trouble. She was very old and very deaf. Lonely 
Cloud thought he would call to her, and then he 
remembered that she was deaf. If he crossed to get 
her, he might not be able to get back. The dam 
might break at any moment. Perhaps one of the men 
would come soon and then he could go after her. 

He shaded his eyes and looked across. She was 
going farther away. Every minute added to her dan- 
ger. The boy clenched his fists as he tried to think it 
through. Why should he go after her? She had 
never done anything for him. The water would be to 
his waist by now. 

But wasn't he being the kind of a coward that the 
missionary had told about if he stayed there on the 
bank ? An old lady needed help even when there was 
no danger. He put his feet into the stream and then 


44 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


drew them out again. He looked this way and that 
for someone else to go. He tried to call her, but it 
was of no use. Once more he put his feet into the 
stream and hesitated. 

Then he tossed the black hair back from his fore- 
head as he said sturdily: 

“If she were my mother I would want someone to 
go for her. I guess I had better hurry along. An 
Indian is no coward.” 

Into the swelling brook he went. A shadow crossed 
his face as he saw how much it had risen but he pushed 
his way across. Then he hurried to the hillside where 
the old lady sat. Taking the halter of the cow in one 
hand and helping Granny Bose with the other, he 
started for the brook. But it was very slow work for 
she could not understand why she should go home in 
the middle of the day. As they neared the bank, he 
could hear the brook rushing by and he wondered 
how he was ever to get the two across. Almost his 
boyish heart failed him as he tried to steady her through 
the current. 

Part way across she stumbled and fell and he strug- 
gled to raise her to her feet. Then the cow pulled 
away and he tried in vain to get her again. Granny 
Bose, seeing the cow moving away, insisted on going 
after her. Oh, how tired he was! His head seemed 
dizzy and he longed to run away. 

Then, just as he felt as if he just could not get her 
across, he heard a shout. A wagon containing a man 
and a boy had stopped on the opposite bank. Quickly 


THE WINNER 


45 


the man sprang into the water, carried Granny Bose the 
short remaining distance and Lonely Cloud followed 
behind. 

First Granny was taken to a neighbor’s, and then the 
brave Indian boy was carried to his home. Only two 
hours later the great dam gave way and the water 
covered the little valley, carrying everything before 
it. But the people all were safe on the higher ground, 
thanks to the warning Lonely Cloud had given them. 

It was many, many weeks before the boy was strong 
and well again and his face was still pale when he 
went back to school. But what did he care? On his 
new coat he wore something of which he was very 
proud. Was it a pin? Indeed it was not. It was 
much larger than a pin for it was a bronze medal 
given him by the state for saving the lives of so many 
people. 

And he had more than the medal, for in his pocket 
he had a letter which he had read over and over and 
over. It was from that white boy who had come in 
the carriage with his father and helped to save Granny 
Bose. And would you believe it, the letter began: 

“My dear Indian Brother.” 


































































































HE SAVED OTHERS 


T HE Chinese ocean steamer was plowing her 
way to the north with all her might but storm 
and wind and wave were all against her. On board 
there were some Chinese officials, a few foreign trav- 
elers and in the steerage there were many Chinese 
coolies who were on their way to the northern port of 
Vladivostok. In their own home towns there was lit- 
tle work and much want, but in Vladivostok there was 
plenty to do with good pay for the service. So they 
had left their homes. 

Among the foreign passengers was a strong, noble- 
looking young American by the name of George Corn- 
wall, who had been for a number of years a missionary 
in China. He had heard of the need in the distant city 
and was on his way to see what he could do. A native 
pastor was greatly needed and he hoped to find one 
for the Christians there. 

But Mr. Cornwall was not among the cabin pas- 
sengers. He had seen the possibility of helping those 
who were on their way to Vladivostok and thus hav- 
ing their friendship when he reached there and began 
his work. So, although he knew well the discomfort 
he would find in the steerage, he bought a ticket at the 
cheaper rate. 


47 


48 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


To ride in the steerage is bad enough in good wea- 
ther but when the waves keep all from the deck, it is 
well-nigh unbearable for one who is refined and cul- 
tured. Cornwall at first gathered the children about 
him and taught them stories of Jesus. Then he helped 
the many who were ill and, as the days went by, those 
coolies learned much of what real love for God meant 
by watching the young man. 

But the storm had driven the boat out of her course 
and one night, when the wind blew a gale and the 
waves ran high, the ship struck a rock. There was a 
thud, a shiver of the great ship and then the call to 
the decks. The lifeboats were lowered and manned. 
The cabin passengers were hastily helped down into 
them while the steerage passengers, wild with fright, 
were driven back to the rear of the ship. Twice the 
captain motioned to Mr. Cornwall to go down the 
ladder, but both times he only motioned to the crowd 
of women behind him. 

Then the officers and crew began to fill the remain- 
ing places in the boats and the captain turned again to 
Mr. Cornwall, begging him to leave the ship. 

‘‘You are an American and we shall be in trouble 
when we get to port if we leave you here. I beg of 
you, take a place,” he said. 

“But why should you leave all these,” pointing to the 
coolies, “and take the places yourselves?” said Corn- 
wall. “They, too, are passengers. Indeed I am an 
American and an American is taught that ladies should 
be considered first. I shall not go.” 


HE SAVED OTHERS 


49 


“Why should we give them our places ?” said one of 
the crew with a laugh. “They are only coolies. They 
are Chinese cattle. Come along.” 

“But they are a part of God’s great family and I 
shall not leave them. While they are here, I shall stay,” 
said the missionary. 

So, although the Chinese pleaded with the captain 
not to leave them or, at least, to send the boats back 
after them, he and his crew rowed away from the 
sinking ship to safety. Only one man on the ship 
was not afraid and that was George Cornwall. He had 
done what was right and he believed his Father would 
protect him. 

The long weary night dragged away. The storm- 
tossed boat rocked to and fro and sank lower and 
lower into the water. Would the morning never come ? 
Perhaps if it were light they could signal for help. All 
they could do till then was to watch and pray. 

Toward morning the waves grew less high as the 
wind died down. Back and forth on the deck walked 
the young minister. The gray of the sky turned blue, 
then pink and then red. Farther and farther he could 
see. 

Ah! Was it a cloud or was it land in the distance? 
He lifted his glasses and studied the distant view. 
Then his face lighted with pleasure. It was land that 
he saw. Perhaps now he could save them. 

Quickly he went below and put on a bathing suit 
which he had brought with him. Then he brought to 
the deck many coils of rope which he had been collect- 


50 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


ing during the night. About his waist he firmly fas- 
tened one of the lighter ropes. The end of this he tied 
to another, and the end of this to another, until the 
great hawser was the last to be added to the long line. 

When all was ready, he spoke a few quieting words 
to the coolies, told them what he intended to do and 
that he would come for them after a few hours, and 
then he dove from the ship into the sea. 

In college he had been a strong swimmer but this 
was so different. Now lives were at stake. The rope 
hindered him and the water seemed very cold. But 
on and on and on he swam. 

At last, tired and exhausted, he reached the shore 
and removed the rope, tying it firmly to a nearby tree. 
His body was numb from exposure. If only he could 
lie down and sleep and sleep, how glad he would be. 

But out on the ship were many, many people, afraid 
of the dark cold water and the sinking ship. They 
were waiting for him to redeem his promise to save 

them. So he lay for only a few minutes to rest and 

then, making sure that the rope was securely fastened 
to the tree, he began to tug and pull. One rope after 
another came to him till he was sure he had one that 
would hold a good amount of weight. This also he 
fastened to the tree and then with tired body but loving 
heart, he went back, hand over hand, along the rope to 
the ship to encourage the coolies to use the rope as he 
had done and try to get safely to land. 

How they loved him as they saw him coming back 
for them! How they trusted him as they started to 


HE SAVED OTHERS 


51 


go alone through the cold water with the waves beat- 
ing against them! How they cheered as he followed 
the last coolie along the rope to the shore ! Not one had 
been lost. And when, a half hour later the ship sank 
from sight, they fell on their knees in gratitude to the 
man who had saved them. 

Several years passed swiftly by and the cholera 
raged in China. As always, Mr. Cornwall was helping 
where there was need. But when the cholera was 
stayed, both Mr. and Mrs. Cornwall were dead and 
the family of seven little children were alone in the 
world. 

Then the Chinese people said: “Now we can show 
how much we appreciated his life and work which he 
gave to us.” 

So they erected a great white marble bei, or monu- 
ment, to his memory, most of the money being given 
by the coolie class. The heathen business men built 
a Y. M. C. A. in his honor. Others enlarged the school 
where he had taught. 

But when they had done all this, they still had the 
most beautiful way of showing how much they ap- 
preciated him for they said: 

“We loved him so much that we shall pray daily 
for the little family, and especially that one, at least, 
of the seven may come back to us some day, to teach 
us to love others as he loved God and us.” 



> 

































































































I SHALL LEAD 


I N 1837 there was born in an old New England fam- 
ily a boy by the name of Robert. His home was 
one of love and care and as he grew older, more and 
more he longed to make a name for himself. 

“Not just to keep the family name clean but to raise 
it even higher,” was the way he told a friend of his 
ambitions. 

So he went to Harvard to study and then to Europe, 
all the time seeking that which would make his life 
most worth while. He had many, many friends, and 
life contained for him much of pleasure and inspira- 
tion. 

When the Civil war broke out, he enlisted and was 
assigned to the Second Massachusetts regiment. 
Quickly he rose to a place of honor and trust. Just 
about the time when his name was up for another 
promotion, the Fifty-fourth Colored Regiment was 
formed. It was the very first northern colored regi- 
ment to be formed. The men were rough and un- 
trained. They needed a strong, likable man to lead 
them, if they were to be valuable to the Union. 

And Governor Andrews of Massachusetts knew 
where such a man was to be found. So he sent a 
message to Robert Gould Shaw, offering him the op- 
portunity of being Colonel of the regiment. 

53 


54 


AROUND THE CAMP EIRE 


What a hard question that was for the soldier to 
decide! It meant hard work and a great amount of 
tact and patience and care. It also meant criticism 
from his friends. Not many of them would care to 
lead a regiment of colored men. Would this work be 
a means of raising his family name? Might his friends 
not think he had disgraced it? 

Long he sat alone trying to decide what he should 
do with the offer. It was the call of his country; it 
was the request of the governor. The Union needed 
these black men as much as it needed the white men. 
They were ready and eager to help. If he could win 
them to faithful work and train them to be good sol- 
diers, might he not be doing a great service for his 
country. 

Yes, he would accept the offer. Perhaps this was 
the greatest opportunity that would ever come to him. 
So he wrote the governor that he would accept the 
place. Then he began to study how he could best do 
the work. He lived with them and worked with them 
and taught them so well that, when they were ordered 
to the front, those colored men loved Colonel Bob as 
their own lives. 

At first they were sent to Florida and then the order 
came to help in the attack on Fort Wagner. It was a 
long, hard march which they had as they neared the 
fort and the men were very tired. But when they knew 
that the attack had begun, every man was ready to help. 
So they were assigned to lead the assault. 


I SHALL LEAD 


55 


Forward they pushed to the ditch under a heavy fire. 
Men began to fall on every side. 

“Guard yourself,” called a fellow officer. “Send 
your men on the parapet and guard yourself.” 

Turning to him, Colonel Bob squared his shoulders 
and said sternly : 

“Sir, my men have been ordered to scale the wall 
and I shall lead them.” 

Then up he went. For a second he stood with up- 
lifted sword. Seeing his men hesitate, he called: 

“Forward, Fifty-fourth. Come with me.” 

Then up they went and over. But Colonel Bob paid 
for his bravery, for he fell from the parapet with a 
bullet through his heart. And there in the trench, 
with his black men whom he had learned to love so well, 
they buried him on July 18, 1863, a martyr for his 
country. 

But his country had learned of his worth. His state 
was especially glad to honor him. So they sent for 
St. Gaudens, the famous sculptor, and bade him make 
a fitting bronze statue of the great man. Today, in 
front of the State House on Boston Commons, the 
statue stands. It shows him mounted on a beautiful 
horse leading his men to the attack. 

If you will stand in front of it for a few hours, you 
will see men and women, boys and girls from all over 
the country. Perhaps you will even see some from 
foreign countries standing there to read of the great 
soldier who in face of greatest danger could still say, 
“I shall lead.” 


56 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


So he kept the family name without stain and he 
added to the list of great names in the family : 

“Robert Gould Shaw, Colonel of the Fifty- fourth 
Colored Regiment” 


THE OLD FLAG 


I N the attack on Fort Wagner, when Colonel Robert 
Gould Shaw so gallantly led his troops to the top 
of the parapet, the color-sergeant fell in the outer 
trench, wounded in both legs. 

But as he fell, he gave a great cry and bravely held 
the flag until it was lifted by Sergeant Carney who 
had been standing nearby. How gladly he took it for 
often he had envied the color bearer the privilege of 
carrying that beautiful flag. It had been given espe- 
cially to their regiment and now he could carry it. 

Hurrying forward, he carried it up the parapet, held 
it aloft and the breeze sent it out over the climbing men. 
But a bullet wounded him in the thigh almost as soon 
as he was on the top and he fell, suffering intensely. 
Very slowly he managed to crawl to a protected spot 
and still the flag waved from the fort, though it seemed 
every moment as if he must drop the staff. 

“The men need it ! Oh, how they need it !” he said, 
over and over, to himself as the pains grew more and 
more intense. 

The second brigade came up the wall and Sergeant 
Carney leaned forward to see if someone could help 
him. His head made a good target so a bullet came his 
way and grazed his head, making him dizzy and faint. 
57 


58 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


So he lay, only by supreme effort keeping it in the 
breeze until the retreating of the men began. Then 
slowly he began to crawl along on his one knee with 
the flag above him. The way seemed endless and he 
was almost exhausted when his comrades found him 
and carried him to the field hospital. 

Cheer upon cheer rose from the men as they carried 
him in with the flag still floating above him. Tears 
sprang to many eyes as they saw how badly he was 
wounded. Sergeant Carney had gone out a soldier 
but now he was a hero. 

A smile fluttered over his face as he listened to their 
cheers. Feebly he raised his hand in a cheer with the 
rest as he said : 

“She never touched the ground, boys. The old flag 
never touched the ground.” 

Then they carried the heroic black soldier away to 
the care of the nurse. 


THE SEARCHERS 


F ROM an old, old Norwegian legend conies this 
story of boyhood. 

In the days that are long gone by, three boys came 
to the stile over which the boy loves to climb — the stile 
of manhood. And as they stood waiting their turn to 
climb, the messenger of the king came along the way. 

His horse was strong and full of life. His dress 
was red and gold and it glistened in the sunlight. In 
his hand he carried a great tablet of stone on which 
was carved the message of the king. 

Reining in his steed, the messenger read in a clear, 
ringing voice : 

“Hear ye, oh boys of my kingdom! Hear ye, oh 
men that are to be my counsellors some day. You are 
the hope of this land. You are our greatest treasure. 
Come one and all to my palace that I may give to you 
a token of my love for you. As the bell in the tower 
strikes six, ye shall assemble there.” 

Then the messenger vanished and the boys looked 
at one another. They were called to the palace of the 
king. They were to receive a gift. What a wonder- 
ful day for them all ! 

Promptly at the hour named,. they came to the castle 
wall and, with others, were taken to the treasure room 


59 


60 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


of the king. And there in long, long rows stood 
strong iron boxes. They were securely locked and 
they were banded with iron. On the top of each box 
was a name — the name of some boy in the kingdom. 

The boys eagerly watched the messenger as he 
searched the name-plates. Yes, there was one for 
Karl, and one for Olaf, and one for Hans, the three 
boys soon to become men. 

Hurrying forward, they claimed their treasure and 
willing hands helped them to load the boxes on carts, 
for they were very heavy. Then the boys started to 
leave the castle. Just outside the gate, they remem- 
bered that they had no key with which to open the 
boxes. Back they all went to the treasure house to ask 
for the keys. 

They found the keeper of the treasure and said to 
him: 

'‘Please, sir, may we have the key to our boxes. We 
are eager to open them at once.” 

But the keeper only smiled as he looked into their 
merry eyes and said: 

“Boys, that I cannot give you. I have no key to 
any box.” 

“But how can we open them if we have no key?” 
they all cried at once. 

“That is for you to answer,” he replied. “You must 
make the key for yourself. In yonder basket you will 
find tools and material of which the key can be made. 
You are free to help yourself to as much as you think 
you will need.” 


THE SEARCHERS 


61 


Wonder ingly the boys took of the tools and the 
metal and started on their way home again. Once 
outside the castle, they began to talk of their new gift. 
Many were the suggestions made as to how the boxes 
might be opened. Then their ways parted and each 
drew the treasure box into his own dooryard. 

Quickly the days passed by and each boy set about 
opening his box. First Olaf tried to pry the cover 
off; then he tried to melt the bands with a hot iron. 
Finally he decided that the easiest way was to take 
heavy irons and smash the box in pieces. Then he 
could use the gold pieces which he was sure the box 
contained. So, early and late, he pried and hammered 
and bored and smashed, but still the box remained 
unopened. 

Karl heard of the plans of his friend but he said 
to himself : 

“To pound and hammer and force the lock is much 
too hard work for me. Now many people in the land 
have had boxes given them by the king and I am sure 
many of them have made their keys. Surely some of 
those keys will fit my box. I will borrow until I find 
one that will open it. I am in no hurry and that will 
be much the easiest way, I am sure.” 

So he went first to his friends and borrowed all the 
keys which they owned. And none would open the 
lock. His neighbors were asked to loan their keys. 
Then he went from door to door, and from town to 
town until he was an old man. But still the treasure 
was hidden from his sight. 


62 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


Now Hans was the son of a poor widow and he 
had little time either to hammer the box open or to 
borrow a key. Early in the morning and late at night 
he was trying to- earn money to support the home. So 
he put his iron box close to his bedside in the little at- 
tic and near to it he placed the tools and the metal. 

Oh, how he did want to open it! Every night he 
lovingly fingered the box. It contained a treasure and 
it had been given to him by the good king. The keep- 
er had said that he must make the key but he had no 
idea how to begin. At last he went to an old lock- 
smith who said : 

“A key is it that you want to make ? Surely I will 
show you. When you have finished your errands each 
day, come to me and I will teach you.” 

So he learned to take the impression and file the 
steel and shape the key. Slowly but surely his piece 
of steel became more and more like the lock on his 
box. And the old locksmith, watching him at his 
work, nodded his head in approval and sent often a 
special message to the king. 

At last one night the lock turned in his hand. Oh ! 
Oh! how excited he became! What was within? Al- 
most he feared to lift the lid. Quickly he ran to the 
stairway and called: 

“Mother, mother, the box has opened! Come and 
let us find my treasure together.” 

So the gray-haired, sweet-faced mother and the big 
sturdy boy lifted the cover; then they lifted a paper 


THE SEARCHERS 


that lay across the top of the box. Beneath this they 
found a silk cloth bearing the arms of the king. 

Below this were gold pieces — very many of them 
and hidden among the gold pieces was this note: 

“In this box are pieces of gold, but that is not the 
real treasure. Far greater in value than gold is the 
knowledge you have gained and the powers of per- 
severance you have increased in opening the box. The 
king needs such boys to serve him. There is awaiting 
you at the castle a place of service for your king.” 

So Hans opened his box and he found, thereby, the 
greatest treasure, a life of happy service for others. 















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HIS CHANCE 


J ACQUES was dining-room boy on one of the great 
steamers that ply between New York and France 
and his hours were hard and long. Six times every 
day he must wait on the long tables full of passengers. 
Over and over the plates must be changed during the 
course of a meal and this meant many steps for the 
boy. But this was only a part of the work which he 
had to do. His superiors were often harsh with him 
when he made mistakes but he did his very best in his 
work. 

Often when the day was over he would go out on 
the deck where the steerage passengers were sitting 
and look across the Atlantic, thinking of the days that 
had gone forever. Not always had he been a waiter. 
Before the war, his life had been so very different. 

Then he had lived with father and mother and his 
two sisters in beautiful Alsace. He had gone to school 
and stood high in his class. He had had his own pets 
and playground. He had been loved and cared for and 
life had been so very full of happiness. 

But now father lay in a soldier’s grave, one sister was 
lost and mother was so sad and so helpless that the 
other sister, Emelie, had to care for her all of the time. 
Only Jacques was able to earn any money to support 
65 


66 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


the home. A neighbor had secured for him this place 
on the boat and the little family had moved to Havre, 
in order that he might be able to come home when the 
boat was in port. So, of course, all the boy-interests 
had had to be laid aside for the work of the man. As 
he would stand and look across the sea, he would long 
with all his soul for the days in Alsace. 

But there came a voyage that seemed harder than 
any other had been. A Glee Club from one of the 
great American Universities was on board and sat at 
his table. They were about his age; they had such 
friendly faces. But their hands were not hard and 
stained as his were. Their faces were full of happi- 
ness as they talked of all they were to see and do in 
sunny France. His face was full of bitterness. They 
were on their way to sing to the people of France. 
But he, too, had a voice to sing and he and father had 
often dreamed of the day when he should sing to the 
people of France. 

Why should he be a waiter while they were honored 
because they could sing? Why could not someone 
have saved his father so that he might have had his 
chance to sing? His soul was full of bitterness as he 
changed plate after plate for the merry-faced boys. 

Once he changed work with another of his mates, a 
deck-hand, for he had heard the boys say that they 
were to sing in the salon that evening. When the 
music began, he crept close to the window to listen and 
he stood there spellbound. How they could sing! 
How he longed to sing with them ! Father and he had 


HIS CHANCE 


67 


learned to sing the Misere and the Crucifixus, so he 
could have helped in those two numbers at least. All 
he could do was to hum softly under his breath as they 
sang. And when he went to his hard berth, it was long 
before he went to sleep. He was very unhappy in- 
deed. 

So the days went by and the moonlight nights be- 
came more and more wonderful. One night, when the 
air was balmy and the moon was very bright, a little 
crowd of blue- jacketed men gathered about the ma- 
chinery on the lower deck. On the upper deck, the 
carefree passenger strolled back and forth in the 
moonlight, occasionally stopping on the bridge to look 
down on the men below. Why had they gathered to- 
gether there? 

At first the men talked and told stories and many 
a happy laugh floated up from below. Then they be- 
gan to sing French songs, snatches of operas, popular 
songs and even the Marseillaise. 

Gradually a group gathered on the bridge above, 
listening to the songs of the workmen. 

“Who can be the owner of that tenor voice?” asked 
one of the boys of the orchestra. “If it is the one on 
the front row, he looks like a young boy. What a 
splendid quality of voice he has there.” 

“Why that is Jacques, our waiter,” said another. 
“Who would have dreamed that he could sing like that. 
Listen to that high note he is carrying.” 

“Oh, Jacques,” called one of the boys on the upper 
deck. “We like your voice. Sing us a solo, will you? 


68 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


We want to hear you sing alone, if the other men 
don’t mind.” 

“Indeed we don’t mind,” answered the leader be- 
low. “We like to hear him sing as well as you do. 
Come on, Jacques, give them the song you were giving 
to us a few nights ago.” 

Then all the men joined in the request but the boy 
hesitated. Could he sing to them? They were all 
trained singers and perhaps his song would not seem 
good to them. Perhaps his voice would break as it 
did sometimes. 

All was still for a moment. Then Jacques walked 
away from the men and looked far away over the sea. 
But there arose a melody so full of loneliness and 
longing that one scarcely dared to breathe lest it should 
cease. The blue- jacketed men leaned forward to listen 
for they had never heard him sing like that before. 
The men above leaned far over the bridge and their 
faces showed their pleasure and appreciation. 

Just a short, little song it was, and when it was 
ended Jacques, the singing waiter, passed quickly into 
the cabin and out of sight. Straight to his bunk he 
went and his body shook with sobs as he cried : 

“I can sing. Oh ! I know I can sing ! I hate being 
a waiter. I want father and I want to sing. I want 
to do as father and I had planned so long. I want to 
go to school and then learn to sing.” 

After the meal was over the next morning and every- 
one had gone from the dining-room, a kindly-faced 
man laid his hand on Jacques’ shoulder and said: 


HIS CHANCE 


69 


“Jacques, have you gone to school?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the boy. 

“And could you go to school now if you wished to 
do so?” asked the man. 

“Oh no, sir. We have nothing left since the war, 
sir,” said the boy. “Father is dead and mother needs 
me.” 

“But would you like to go to school if you could?” 
asked the stranger. 

“Indeed I would, sir,” said Jacques sadly. “Better 
than anything else in the world, I should like it.” 

“I heard you sing last night, Jacques. I was on 
the bridge. You have a wonderful voice. You must 
not be a waiter; you must sing to the world. Over in 
America we love to help boys whose fathers gave their 
all for France. My University will gladly let you study 
there and I will teach you to sing. Would you like 
that?” 

With eyes just brimming with happiness, the waiter 
looked up into the eyes of the conductor of the Uni- 
versity Orchestra. 

“I should be so happy — oh, so very, very happy if 
I could,” he said. “But mother is first. When we get 
to Havre, we will ask her — and she can always find a 
way. I thank you, sir. I thank you.” 

That night in the moonlight there floated from the 
lower deck, late in the evening, a joyful, happy song 
sung by a French boy. Could you have translated the 
song, you would have heard these words: 


70 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


“God’s in his heaven. All’s right! 

All’s right with the world.” 

Once more Jacques was singing the song that father 
had loved to sing in the little home in Alsace — the song 
he had never once sung since the father had been 
buried beneath the little white cross in sunny France. 
Once more there was hope in his heart. 


THE LOVE OF A MOTHER 


D OWN the roadway that leads to the Argonne 
Forest in France sped an automobile and in the 
rear seat of the car sat a woman, dressed in deep black. 
Her eyes were red with weeping ; her face was marked 
with suffering. 

From far-off America she had come to find the grave 
of her only boy. Early in the war, long before the 
Americans had joined the allies, he had volunteered to 
help and he had given many long months of service 
to France before he fell. All along the roadway from 
Rheims she had been thinking of him. Perhaps he had 
been in these very trenches; perhaps some little dug- 
out that she had passed had been his home; perhaps 
he had been able to protect some other mother whose 
home was now only a pile of gray stone. 

As she saw the desolation of the little towns, the 
great barren tracts of country, the lack of men and 
boys everywhere, the women doing the heavy work of 
the fields, there grew more and more of bitterness in 
her heart for the nation that had robbed her of her boy, 
the idol of her great home. 

So she traveled on and on and on. Finally the car 
stopped before a cemetery where there were hundreds 
of crosses. On the one side there were many, many 
7i 


72 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


white ones, marking the graves of those who fought 
for France. On the other side were equally as many 
black crosses to mark the graves of those who had 
worn the German uniform. On some of the graves 
were flowers, showing that friends had been to the 
graves. 

Down the long rows she made her way, looking 
often at the slip of paper sent her by the government 
to tell her in what row and what section her boy was 
buried. And then at the very end of the cemetery, she 
saw his name in black letters on the white cross. 
“Franklin Meade. Jan. 15, 1918. Mort pour la 
France.” 

For a long, long time the mother knelt by the little 
cross. How she longed to see him! How she had 
loved him! How glad she was that she believed that 
he had really helped to win the great war ! She prayed 
for her boy and then for herself that she might be as 
true as he had been to what she saw was right and 
good. 

Finally she rose, unwrapped the great bundles that 
the chauffeur had brought from the car and began to 
place the beautiful flowers that they contained on the 
grave. That was all she could do ! At least his grave 
should be beautiful when she left it. She would cover 
it completely with all these flowers which he had loved 
so much. 

Stepping aside to arrange them more carefully, she 
suddenly became aware of a black cross close beside 
the white cross of her son; another was just behind 


THE LOVE OF A MOTHER 


73 


it. Why had they laid him beside the Germans ? Her 
whole nature rose in revolt. Why should he have 
been put here when he gave so much freely to France. 
The Germans had been so heartless and cruel. They 
had even taken him away from her. She had thought 
that she wanted him always to stay where he had been 
buried, but now she would have him removed at once. 
He should not stay there with black crosses beside him. 
He should either lie surrounded by comrades or else 
she would have him brought to the home cemetery. 

So she stood by the grave and looked down the long 
lines on both sides. Ah! every cross meant a boy or 
a man. Every one had been as much to some mother 
perhaps as Franklin had been to her. In her mind 
she seemed to see a German mother kneeling by the 
grave next to her, angry that her son should lie by the 
side of the soldiers who had made her home desolate. 
How many mothers there would be if one were kneel- 
ing by every white cross and every black one! Oh, 
how much the mothers of the whole world had suffered ! 

All unconscious to herself, there was creeping into 
her face a look of great tenderness. The little black 
crosses no longer spoke of enemies. They told of 
boys and men who had obeyed the call of their coun- 
try. And that was a great call. They were there to 
protect their homes from what they believed was evil. 

Once more she looked at her own white cross — 
“Mort pour la France.” She had money and time. 
She could come to the grave of her son. Perhaps many 


74 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


of these many mothers would never be able to come 
and place a flower here. 

Then that gentle American mother took a beautiful 
rose from the grave of her own boy and laid it on the 
grave at the right which was marked with a cross of 
black. Another she placed below the black cross in the 
rear, and still another on the white cross at the left. 

From the fields nearby the chauffeur brought great 
armfuls of the beautiful, red poppies growing in pro- 
fusion everywhere, and on many, many graves in the 
corner of the cemetery she placed little bunches of 
them, making the place seem cheerful with their bright 
color. And some of the poppies were on the grave with 
the white cross and some on the grave with the black. 

“A mother’s love is big enough to take all boys in,” 
she said softly to herself. “I am glad now that my 
boy has been laid here with other boys who loved their 
home and their country. The boys were not to blame. 
When they have been put here they are all 'dead for 
their country.’ How beautiful their little corner looks 
and how much better than if all the flowers had been 
heaped on Franklin’s grave. I am sure he would have 
had it so.” 

The sun was sinking in the west and the sky was 
alight with color as she rose to go. She had taken 
many pictures to carry back with her and she had only 
time to make her train. So with a long last look she 
went back through the cemetery, thinking deeply of 
what she had seen. 


THE LOVE OF A MOTHER 


75 


Then, as she softly closed the gate behind her, she 
said: 

“God keep them all, as He loved them all, and help 
the mothers of the world to teach the love that makes 
war impossible. Here they are all heroes.” 
















































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THE GRADUATION GIFT 


M ATTHEW Dean Colby was very sure, when 
he came out on the veranda of his home that 
June morning, that he knew as much as ever he needed 
to know. Why? Oh! he was to graduate from the 
High School that day and every High School boy 
knows what a wise person a graduate must be. 

Mother had suggested that he wear a dark tie but 
he knew better than to wear the one she suggested. 
Father had suggested that he take time to do some 
rehearsing for his part on the afternoon’s program, 
but he wasn’t afraid of that little speech. Why, if he 
forgot it, he would make something up and go on. 

So he looked once more over the group of gradua- 
tion gifts on the table and then took his way to the 
attic. Mother had said at the breakfast table that he 
would find grandfather’s gift there. What could it 
be if it had to be put in the attic? Had grandfather 
himself put it there? 

He stopped for a moment to look into the room that 
grandfather used to have for his own. Somehow 
Matt — as grandfather used to call him — somehow 
Matt liked to come into this room. The chair still 
stood by the window in which grandfather always sat 
at story time. His Bible lay on the table and when 
77 


78 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


Matt looked at it, he remembered the many stories 
grandfather had read to him out of the book after he 
had told them in his own wonderful way. 

Grandfather’s picture, taken when he was a young 
man going to war, still looked down from the wall. 
Oh yes, Matt liked this room for he had dearly loved 
the old soldier who had lived in it so many years. So 
he sat down in the big arm-chair for a time and then 
started once more for the attic, quietly closing the door 
behind him. Grandfather had loved him and had 
looked forward to his graduation day. What had he 
left for his gift? 

Over in front of the window in the attic was a little, 
brown horsehair trunk that he had never seen there 
before, so he made his way toward it. On the top, in 
his grandfather’s writing, he found these words: 

“To my grandson, Matthew, on his graduation day, 
with the hope that he may love and cherish the things 
within as I have loved and cherished them. Only to 
one who was to carry my name and who had loved me 
would I have been willing to entrust them for they 
are my dearest treasures. They belong to my grand- 
son because I believe in him.” 

Almost he feared to open the box. These were 
grandfather’s treasures. All the pride of an hour 
ago was gone. Now he was touching the things that 
had belonged to a great, great man. 

Across the top of the trunk lay a torn old flag — very 
dirty, very much tattered and very frail.. Pinned to 
its corner was a note : 


THE GRADUATION GIFT 


79 


“When you see this you will think of Bunker Hill 
and my empty sleeve. I saved this flag in order that 
my grandson might live in a free country. Some- 
times when a great crisis comes to your country in 
your day, let it remind you to fight for that which will 
give to your grandchildren a free and happy country 
in which to live and grow. Pass this flag unsullied 
to your boy when you are through with it.” 

Matt’s face was very grave as he lifted the old flag 
which grandfather had brought downstairs once in a 
long, long while and allowed him to reverently touch. 
Now it belonged to him and he was to pass it to his 
boy some day. Would he ever have a boy who would 
grow to be great like grandfather? If he did, he 
would have to be great himself. And Matt bent low 
and touched the side of his face to the old flag, just as 
he had seen grandfather do so many times. 

Below the flag was an old army suit and a cap and a 
sword. Then a quaint old picture of grandmother; on 
the back of which grandfather had written: 

“I chose her because she was pure and true. To her 
you owe more than ever you dream. She gave to you 
your beautiful mother and many, many of your ideals.” 

Below the picture was another of George Washing- 
ton and, as Matthew picked it up, he read in a strange 
handwriting : 

“To Matthew Dean, drummer-boy in the Colonial 
Army, who at sixteen has proved that he has in him 
the stuff of which heroes are made.” And it was' 
signed, “George Washington.” 


80 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


Sixteen ! Matt was sixteen and he had never proved 
that. No great man could say that of him. The teach- 
ers in the High School would never say that. He 
hadn’t even conquered his lessons. Yet grandfather 
had earned the right to have this picture and this com- 
mendation, though he had only been a farmer-boy with 
little chance to learn. 

One by one the boy took out the little things that 
came next, about many of which grandfather had told 
him. They were bits of the war and reminders of 
many friends who had loved him during his long life. 
To Matt, they were like old friends. 

Finally he came to a little copy of the Bible. One 
corner had been torn by a shell but the title page was 
still there, though many of the pages were torn and 
worn. Matt read there : 

“ ‘He that ruleth his spirit is greater than he that tak- 
eth a city. Quit you like men. Be strong.’ Grand- 
mother.” 

How grandfather had loved this little Bible which 
he had carried through the war and which was so very, 
very old ! 

Across the bottom of the trunk, grandfather had 
spread a cloth bearing the coat-of-arms of the noble 
family from which he had come. Matt was to remem- 
ber that his ancestry was of the best. 

At last the trunk was empty and all about him were 
grandfather’s things. How rich Matt felt! And yet 
how lonely he felt! If only grandfather had been alive 
to see him graduate from school ! Lovingly he fingered 


THE GRADUATION GIFT 


81 


his new gifts as he put them back into the trunk. 
Grandfather had entrusted them to him because he had 
faith in him. Some day he, too, could pass them on. 
He had a clean name and a wonderful inheritance. He, 
too, could prove that he had in him the stuff of which 
heroes are made and he would. He would protect the 
flag that grandfather had saved for him. He would 
be strong. 

So he carried the trunk down to his bedroom where 
it would be very near to him and help him to remem- 
ber, when he was tempted to be a failure. He loved 
everything in that trunk. 

“I will begin by conquering my own self,” he said 
as he once more closed the lid of the trunk, after he 
had carried it down and looked to see that all was safe 
inside. “Then, perhaps, some day I can do greater 
things.” 

Many, many years have passed since that day of 
graduation but the picture of George Washington still 
stands on the mantel of the bedroom of Matthew Dean, 
now an old man with bent body and snow-white hair. 
Beside it are many trophies that he has earned and 
back of it, his appointment as a Colonel in the United 
States Army with citations for bravery and courage. 

And Colonel Dean has a young grandson who is 
patiently waiting for the day to come when he shall 
graduate from the High School and be the owner of 
a very old, very much tattered, very frail United States 
flag which is in a glass case in his grandfather’s room. 

Sometimes they stand together in front of the case 


82 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


and the Colonel tells him stories of the old man who 
saved it and lost his arm by so doing. And then the 
old Colonel will say to the boy beside him: 

“I shall give it to you, Matthew, because I have faith 
in you. It is my dearest treasure, and I have tried to 
keep it unsullied for your sake. When it comes to 
you, pass it on to your son with honor ft ” 


THE VOLUNTEERS 


O N THE very top of one of the hills that guard 
the famous old town of Verdun in France stands 
Fort de Vaux. Like a great sentinel it stood during 
the World War, keeping watch over the city below, 
and the people of the town, now that the war is over, 
point with pride to the old fort and say: 

“The enemy tried hard to keep it, but our men were 
brave and strong and again we won it back.” 

It was late in the afternoon of a June day and two 
very young soldiers were taking a party of Americans 
through the fort. Down the dark passage-ways, up 
the dark, narrow stairs, past the shelves covered with 
hay on which the defenders had slept, then through a 
hallway to the tiny little chapel where many, many men 
had found strength for the hours of struggle — on and 
on and on they went. Only the two small lamps in 
the hands of the guides gave light to the visitors. But 
the guides took great pride in showing the old fort, 
for it had helped to protect their homes. Finally, after 
both inside and outside of the place had been inspected, 
they led the way to a little oblong mound in front of 
the fort. At its head was a white cross. Above the 
mound were many withered flowers and some fresh 
flowers. 


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84 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


The soldier waited while the visitors read the names 
of several men which were written on the cross, and, 
below them, “Mort pour la France” (“Dead for 
France”). 

Then, with his cap in his hand and love in his eyes, 
he said: 

“It was in 1916, and the Germans were bombarding 
the fort, which was being defended by over two hundred 
men. For five days there had been no water in the 
fort. The heat was very great. The powder in the 
air made the throats of the men very dry. So they 
suffered more and more as the hours went by. 

“To get water, one must go for three miles through 
an underground passage and then out in the open field 
to the spring. No men could be spared from the 
defense, yet water must be had. It was almost sure 
death to try to get it. 

“Then these men went to the commander of the fort 
and volunteered to go for water. 

“ ‘We shall all die without it,’ they said. ‘We may 
be able to save your lives by going. At least we are 
glad to try.’ 

“And so they went through the dark tunnel, carrying 
all the vessels that they could in order to bring back 
enough so that all might have a little drink, at least. 
They made their way to the spring and started back. 
But the Germans saw them and fired. 

“When they did not come back, others went to seek 
for them, and they found them all dead in the field. 
So they brought them here after the bombardment was 


THE VOLUNTEERS 


85 


over, where we could all see their grave and remember 
their love and courage.” 

Again the soldier pointed to the words on the cross : 
“Mort pour la France.” Then he smiled a rare smile 
as one and another of the visitors brought poppies 
from the nearby fields and laid them on the grave of 
the brave men who had laid down their lives for their 
comrades. Picking up a bit of dried flower from 
the grave, he handed it to one of the visitors, saying: 

'‘Take it back to America. By trying to save our 
men, they were trying to save your men and your 
country. They were all heroes.” 


THAT HE MAY PLEASE HIM 


H E WAS a young missionary, home on a fur- 
lough from Africa. He was visiting in the 
home of another missionary who had given most of 
his life to Persia. After his long years in the South 
of Africa it meant much to be again in a home where 
there was comfort and love and happiness. So Herbert 
Withey was thoroughly enjoying it all. 

He enjoyed talking over his work with Mr. Bassett, 
but he enjoyed still more the hours that he spent with 
Ruth, the youngest daughter in the home. 

Ruth had a sunny face and blue, blue eyes. She had 
a winning smile and a keen mind. Ever since the first 
day he had seen her he had admired her, but the 
admiration had quickly turned into deep love for the 
girl. Then, as the days went by, he loved her more 
and more. 

But his work lay in far-off Africa/ Only too well 
he knew the dangers of the life there. Already three 
of his sisters lay buried there after a few short years 
of work. Could he ask her to marry him and go there 
to live? Over and over he asked himself the question, 
and his visit drew near to a close with the question still 
unanswered. 

Finally one day he could keep silent no longer. He 
87 


88 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


told her of his love for her, and asked if she thought 
she could be happy to live in a heathen land with him. 

“I have often told you of the dangers of the climate, 
Ruth/’ he said. “You must remember it when you 
tell me your answer.” 

And to his great joy the girl answered: 

“I have learned to love you dearly during these 
months that you have been in our home, and I am 
perfectly willing to risk the African climate if I can 
make a home for you and help you to help Africa.” 

So they went together to the parents, who, in turn, 
went with them to the old family physician who had 
had to fight so many years for the life of the girl. 
It was with grave faces that the little party came back 
to the home an hour later. 

“For Ruth to go to Africa would be to doom her 
to death,” he had said. “As she is now, she could not 
live a year in that climate. She must not go. Why 
should Mr. Withey ask her to do it? If he loves her, 
why will he not stay here and work where there is 
so much need? There are books to be translated for 
Africa and missionaries to train if he still wants 
to feel that he is helping the black people. I am sorry 
to spoil the happiness which Ruth thinks she would 
have there, but she must not go.” 

Then followed days of struggle in the life of the 
young man. Should he stay? His work was there. 
He had told them he would come back. Should he go ? 
It seemed as if he could never go back into the lonely 
home again. It seemed too drear for words, after 


THAT HE MAY PLEASE HIM 


89 


living in the Bassett home. What was right? What 
ought he to decide? Would he do his best work there 
when he longed so much to be with Ruth? Could he 
do his best work here when he felt that he ought to be 
there ? 

At last, one beautiful evening as they walked together 
in the moonlight, he said to her, while his heart seemed 
ready to break : 

“Ruth, I feel that I have decided. I must go back 
alone. God called me to that work, and I dedicated 
my life to Him. I should feel like a coward if I should 
stay away longer. I should despise myself. Much as 
I love you, I must leave you and go my lonely way.” 

There was a moment of tense silence as she held 
firmly to his arm. Then she said bravely: 

“It is the only way. I have felt sure that that was 
the way you would decide and I want you to go. I 
should have had to think less of you if you had decided 
to stay. Love grows stronger as duty is done. My 
love will go with you, and stay with you, and wait 
patiently for your return when the years have passed 
by until another furlough. I am satisfied to have it so.” 

And so he went back alone, carrying with him many 
little gifts made by her own hands to be placed in his 
rough, little home. There was the easy pillow for his 
chair, the dainty cup and saucer for his coffee, the 
embroidered motto for the wall, reading: “That he 
may please him who hath called him to be a soldier.” 
Often as he looked at it he could hear her say again, 
as she had said at the steamer : 


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AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


“A good soldier never falters — and especially a 
soldier of the great King.” 

The home was so lonely that at times it seemed to 
him that he must run away from it all. Yet when 
he looked at the three graves of his sisters, he was glad 
he had not brought her with him. 

One day a great African chief came to visit him in 
his home. He had heard much of him and he wanted 
to visit with him. He was a wicked old chief, but 
Withey was not afraid. So they sat and talked of 
many things. Then the chief asked: 

“Why do you live alone? A woman makes a hut 
more happy. No black man lives without a woman in 
the home.” 

For answer the missionary took a picture of Ruth 
from his pocket and handed it to the old chief, waiting 
for him to look at it carefully. It was a beautiful 
picture of the girl with the smiling eyes and the sunny 
face. After a time the missionary said: 

“That little lady is across the big, big sea in my own 
land. She is the one I love, and I could not love 
another. She would come and make my home happy, 
but if she came she might soon be ill. Perhaps I might 
have to lay her beside my three sisters there. I cannot 
let her come, I cannot marry another, and so I must 
live alone.” 

The chief looked again at the beautiful face and his 
old head shook sadly. 

“She would make light,” he said. “She would make 
much light.” 


THAT HE MAY PLEASE HIM 91 

The very next day two wives of the old chief came 
and asked for Mr. Withey. 

“We wish to see the picture,” they said. “The pic- 
ture of the beautiful woman whom you love and for 
whose sake you live alone. Our chief — he liked her.” 

They were old and wrinkled and dirty. Almost he 
hated to put the dainty picture into their hands. 

“Ah ! the beautiful face — the curly hair — the pretty 
dress !” they exclaimed. 

For a long time they looked at the beautiful face. 
Then they knelt before the missionary as they said : 

“We are sorry. We are very sorry. Now we 
understand why you love her so much you cannot 
marry another. You love her very much.” 

As the missionary watched them go down the trail 
he said to himself : 

“They are only black women, but they know what 
I mean when I say that I love Ruth well enough to 
be true. Love is a world language. I am glad that 
the old chief came to see me.” 

The months rolled by and then more months. Late 
in the fall, as he sat in the doorway of his home, they 
brought to him a letter in the well-known handwriting. 
For a moment he held it fast in his hand. Oh, if it 
were only she that had come ! Then he broke the seal 
and read it. His face lit with joy and the tears rolled 
down his cheeks. Again and again he read it: 

“Every hindrance has been removed and I am well 
and strong. I am well ! I shall come to you and the 
little African home very soon. God is very good.” 


92 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


He shared his good news with the natives about him, 
and then they began to make the home ready for its 
queen. They rubbed and scrubbed. They planted and 
transplanted flowers and shrubs. And they counted 
the days till she should come. 

One day, not many weeks later, a steamer anchored 
off shore, and as soon as her anchor was dropped a 
brown, swarthy American went on board. He was 
looking for someone, not at all sure he was to be 
rewarded in his search. But he was hoping. Sud- 
denly he saw a dainty white dress which looked as if 
it might belong to her. 

There was a rush across the deck and Ruth was 
there — Ruth with the sunny face and the smiling eyes — 
Ruth, the one of whose coming he had dreamed so 
long; Ruth, who could turn his house into a home. 

On the shore the natives were waiting for them and 
they threw flowers in the way and sang to her. But, 
after the happy girl and her Christian soldier had 
entered the little house, an old chief and his two wives 
looked lovingly after them, and he said: 

“We understand, and we are glad. He was brave 
to do what he thought was the right. He loved her 
very much, yet he came to us. Now he can have light 
in his home. We are glad, glad!” 


THEY SHALL NOT PASS 


I T WAS the night of the twenty-third of June, 
nineteen hundred twenty-one. and the war-torn city 
of Verdun was in gala dress. Flags floated from 
the ruined buildings as well as from the few new ones. 
Gayly dressed officers were seen in the streets ; a splen- 
did military band was assembled in the square. A 
great hero was in the town — Marechal Petain, the 
hero of Verdun. 

The day marked the fifth anniversary of the re- 
taking of one of the great forts that guarded the city, 
so there had been patriotic addresses, a great parade 
of soldiers, and many glad reunions of friends of the 
war days. 

How they loved the brave man who, in the face of 
great struggle, had given to them the message that rang 
round the world: 

“On ne passera jamais” — “They shall never pass.” 
His courage had rekindled theirs and the country 
had been held. All the city was glad to do him honor. 
So they assembled in the narrow streets of the old city. 
There were young and old, wounded soldiers with 
many stripes and crosses, young soldiers with happy, 
care-free faces; there were mothers in deep black 
dresses and girls dressed in all the colors of the rain- 
bow. It was a sight to remember. 

93 


94 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


As the day wore away, there drifted into the crowd 
men and women and girls from the land across the sea. 
They were tourists, glad to be in Verdun on such a 
gala day. To them this was a rare sight, so they 
listened to the quartet and the band. They moved 
about among the crowd, waiting for the exercises to 
begin in the evening. 

Now the city square was in the very heart of the 
ruin. Above it, on the hillside, towered the demolished 
houses. Even on the square itself there were great 
blocks of stone which had fallen there from above. 
On the walls of the houses above, on the sides of the 
hill and on the blocks of stone sat the waiting people, 
while the streets were filled to overflowing. 

On a great granite block, very near to the orchestra, 
sat a boy — an American boy. All day he had been 
riding through the battlefields of France, and every bit 
of his loyalty and patriotism had been called forth by 
what he had seen. In face of the greatest struggle 
they had held. They had died, if necessary, for the 
right. He wanted to be in the very midst of these 
old, wounded soldiers on the square. 

The boy’s face shone as they sang the “Marseillaise.” 
Near him sat a soldier, proudly touching his Croix de 
Guerre, and the boy wished that he might own one. 
Before him sat a mother dressed in deep black and 
the tears fell as she sang the song. 

For a moment he forgot the crowd as his mind went 
back over the war. Why had they held? Why had 
they suffered? Why had they won their crosses? He 


THEY SHALL NOT PASS 


95 


read the answer in the faces of the crowd about him. 
They had stood for the Right, so they had a right to 
wear crosses and to be honored. 

As he looked into the faces of the men about him, 
his own life seemed so useless, so careless, so full of 
weakness. To him, also, there had come a chance to 
stand for the right. Not on the field of battle, but in 
a place where it meant a long, hard fight to win in the 
face of great temptation. But he had hesitated; he 
had even played with the question. He had no right 
to be here with all these brave men. He had been 
a coward. 

Suddenly he was roused from his thoughts by a 
voice singing those old war words, “On ne passera 
jamais.” The crowd was bending forward, eager to 
catch every word. Every face was full of emotion 
as one verse after another was sung by the strong, tenor 
voice. Oh, what a wonderful song it must be to so 
enthuse a great crowd like this! 

At the close of the last verse the singer raised his 
hand to signify that all should sing. Then, from the 
ruins above, from the street below, from orchestra and 
from chorus, there came a burst of song. It seemed 
to pour from their very souls as they sang over and 
over again those glorious French words: 

“They shall never pass. They shall never pass. 
Never, never, never!” 

Slowly the American boy caught the resolution and 
the determination of the brave Verdun people who had 
suffered so much for the right. Then he joined in 


96 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


the last refrain, using the language of the people about 
him. “On ne passera jamais, jamais, jamais.” 

The crowd scattered to their homes and the ruined 
city shone white in the moonlight. But a boy of 
eighteen still sat quietly on a great, fallen block of 
stone, looking at the scene about him. He was hum- 
ming over and over the words of the beautiful song, 
but in his heart he was saying: 

“They shall never pass ! Those things that would 
make me less a man shall never pass the threshold of 
my life. I, too, will win. They shall never pass, 
never, never, never!” 


THE LESSON OF THE “ODYSSEY” 


M ARK AVERY had for his teacher in the 
Church School one of those rare souls whose 
life is a genuine interpretation of the teachings of the 
Master. In all sorts of ways the boys had tested him, 
but they had found him sincere and true, gentle and 
sympathetic. He was a man of faith and a man of 
prayer. 

Out of his class there had gone, through the years, 
many strong, stalwart Christian young men, for he had 
lived his message before them and so they believed and 
accepted his message. It was nearing a communion 
time and some of the boys were to join the church. 
They had asked Mark to join them. He had talked 
the matter over with his teacher, but somehow he was 
not satisfied that he wanted to join. 

Mark came from a home that was not Christian; 
from a home that encouraged him little in the higher 
things. Perhaps that was what made him weigh the 
question in his own mind. His father was a very 
successful business man and he should inherit the busi- 
ness. His father believed that one got along better in 
business by not using Christian principles. If he were 
to take his father’s place, why did he need a belief in 
God ? Could he not make a real success in life without 


97 


98 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


it ? Mr. Lane had said over and over in the classroom 
that only as they realized their need of God in their 
lives did they find him a present help. He felt no 
need, so why should he be looking for help? 

He could see how Mr. Lane needed a faith in God, 
for he had had so many hard things in his own life. 
His wife had died, his son had been killed in the war. 
Mr. Lane certainly needed God. 

One of Mark’s friends was a cripple and could not 
do the things he longed to do. He would need God 
to make him patient and resigned. Another was in- 
clined to drink more than he should — so he needed 
God to help him resist temptation. But he, Mark 
Avery, was strong and well and happy and wealthy. 
Why did he need God? 

One day, a few weeks after he had had his talk with 
Mr. Lane, he took his “Odyssey” under his arm and 
wandered down a little path that led far into the woods. 
Alone by himself there, he would prepare his review 
lesson. 

And he read these words from the old epic story : 

“Saying this, clear-eyed Athena passed away, even 
as a bird takes its flight. Into his heart she had 
brought strength and courage, turning his thoughts 
upon his noble father more than before. As he marked 
this in his mind, an awe fell on his heart. He knew 
a God was with him. Straightway he went about his 
work, godlike himself.” 

The eyes of the boy left the book and looked far 
away. “Strength and courage” — the two qualities he 


THE LESSON OF THE “ODYSSEY” 99 


admired more than all others in the people whom he 
knew. “An awe fell on his heart. He knew a God was 
with him.” Did one lack in courage and strength if 
they did not know a God was within? If so, then this 
was one reason why he should want to find God. Of 
all things, he wanted strength and courage. 

“And he went about his work, godlike himself.” 
Perhaps here was really the secret of Mr. Lane’s 
strength of character and courage to face hard things. 
He was godlike himself because he knew a God was 
within him. 

Once more he read the little passage in the Odyssey 
lesson. This was a bit of old Greek belief, yet it 
made them stronger to live right. Was it true today? 
Did strength and courage and the power to be godlike 
come from the knowledge of a God within? If 
Athena could thus help in the olden days, surely the 
God of whom Mr. Lane had taught them so much 
could help today. He must find God for his very own 
so that he, too, like the young man of the Odyssey, 
could have strength and courage and go out to live 
godlike himself because of a power within. 

So his question was answered by the lesson which 
he had set out to learn — God was needed in his life. 




♦ 


ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP 


A RISTOCLES stood on the very edge of the cliff 
watching a party of tourists come up the steep 
sides of Mount Parnassus in Greece. He had been 
watching them for nearly two hours while his sheep 
grazed near-by. Soon he would go to the town, for 
this was his chance to earn a few more drachmas and 
also to spend some hours with people who came from 
the country where he longed so much to go — America. 
Back and forth they zigzagged up the steep mountain 
sides, past the wonderful olive orchards, then through 
the old town with its ancient threshing-floor, and then 
up the rocky hillside. Most of the way the boy could 
see them in their climb. 

“I hope some of them can speak Greek or French,” 
thought Aristocles. “It has been so long since any 
Americans were here — not since before the war. I 
have so many questions that I want to ask. I hope 
some of them will talk to me.” 

Then he drove his sheep to a more sheltered place 
and turned them over to the care of another shepherd 
near-by. 

He was close to the road-side when the Americans 
stopped at the little hotel in Delphi, the town of which 
they had dreamed ever since leaving far-off America. 
Aristocles watched their faces and heard their exclama- 

IOI 


102 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


tions of delight as they looked far off across mountain 
and valley. Delphi to him was just home, but they 
seemed to think it something very, very beautiful. 

Delphi, to them, was the seat of the old oracle of 

Apollo in the days gone by, a place that had made 
history for itself and for Greece. 

So he followed them as they visited the museum 
where many of the sacred relics were kept; then up 
the Sacred Way, past the ruins of the old temples and 
treasure houses, over to the Castilian Spring and even 
to the hill top. He listened eagerly to try to catch, 

in the few words of English that he knew, what the 

leader of the party was saying as he told how all this 
place had been buried for centuries and centuries and 
had only recently been excavated. To Aristocles this 
was nothing very wonderful. Why should Americans 
come so far to see some old piles of stone ? It seemed 
very foolish. 

So the boy of fifteen went out under the old olive 
trees at the close of the afternoon and sat down to 
think it over. The sight of the automobiles had made 
him restless and discontented. They had come miles 
and miles to Delphi, but he must stay right there. He 
wished he had money to go as far away as they had 
come. 

Suddenly someone touched him on the shoulder, and 
he turned to find a lady by his side. Earlier in the day 
she had gone with him to one of the mud huts to see 
the native women carding and spinning and weaving 
the wool. It was she who had used the little cup, 


ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP 


103 


made from a leaf, that he had put together at the 
spring; and it was she who had climbed on the back 
of his donkey and ridden down the little street. So 
he felt as if he quite knew her and he welcomed her 
with a smile. She could speak only a little French and 
no Greek. He could speak only a little English, so it 
was fun just to try to talk to each other. 

Haltingly he told her of his life in Delphi — the long 
hours of work picking the olives, tending the sheep, 
threshing the grain, and many other things. Then, 
with eyes full of questions, he said: 

“And your boys in America — what do they do? 
When they also have no father, what do they do? 
Do they ride the donkeys and tend the sheep ?” 

“Oh, no,” she replied. “We have only a few boys 
who live where there are either donkeys or sheep. 
Some of our boys work in the great factories, and some 
of them work on the farms. Some work in stores, but 
most of our boys who are of your age go to school.” 

His eyes looked far away across the valleys as he 
turned quickly about. 

“I want to go! I want to go!” he cried. “I want 
to go far from Delphi and far from Itea. Sometimes 
I take a donkey-load of olives to the steamer at Itea, 
and always I want to go on the ship. The mountains 
shut me in ! I want to go very, very far. Our men 
have sometimes gone to America and they send much 
money back. Now our men go into the war. But I — 
I am only a boy and I must stay here and tend sheep 
and tread the grapes. But I want to go!” 


104 * 


AROUND THE CAMP EIRE 


There was a silence between the two, for only too 
well she knew how useless it was to wish to go. Just 
to get a living from these steep hillsides was a struggle. 
What could she say to the boy who wanted to go? 

But there came the tramp of a donkey’s feet near 
the brow of the hill. Then there came a donkey over 
the crest with such great bundles of firewood strapped 
on his back that it seemed hard to find the little burden- 
bearer beneath. Back of the load came another donkey, 
while seated on it was a woman. Her back was bent, 
her skin was dark, and her face looked very, very tired. 
But it was full of strength of character and gentleness. 

The boy jumped to his feet as the second donkey 
appeared. His face lighted and he touched the arm 
of his new friend. 

“My mother comes,” he said. “She works hard all 
day. Now she comes to get our supper. She is my 
good mother.” 

Together the boy and the lady went to the road and 
he spoke in Greek to his mother, who had bowed low 
before the stranger. She brushed the long black hair 
back from his forehead and smiled as she answered him. 
Then she passed wearily up the steep road to the little 
mud house which they called home. 

“My mother is glad you are here and glad I can talk 
to you,” he said. “I told her I wanted to stay just a 
few minutes longer before I helped her, and she says 
I may.” Again his eyes roamed to far-off Itea and 
the Mediterranean, now tinted with sunset colors. 
“I want to go,” he said again. “I want to go more 


ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP 


105 


than I want anything else in all the world. But mother 
needs me. Mother works in the fields and does a 
man’s work. And I work hard all day and help her, 
for she is my good mother. But some day when I 
am a man and can earn much money to send to her, 
then I can go from Delphi, from Itea — maybe,” and 
he grasped the hand of his new friend, “maybe I can 
come to America, your land. Oh, I should love to do 
that ! Now I must stay and help.” 

“And when you come, perhaps I can show you how 
beautiful my land can be,” said the lady, giving him 
her hand as she rose to go. “I should like to do that. 
Good-by. A boy who is good to his mother is on the 
way to make a good man. Some day, I am sure, you 
will be able to go and see some of the big world. 
Good-by.” 

“Good-by,” said the boy. “Please come again to 
Delphi. I wish I might go with you all in the morning. 
I shall watch you as you go down the mountain.” 

Very early in the morning, even before the sun was 
up, the party went again down the steep mountain-side. 
The scene about them was one of rare beauty as the 
day broke over the valley and the sun rose. But the 
boy far up on the hillside, driving his sheep to the 
pasture, did not see the little old town of Delphi, nor 
the old Temple of Apollo, nor even the beauty of the 
sunrise. He saw only the automobiles as they wound, 
back and forth, down the steep hillside. His hands 
were pushing at the bottom of his pockets and often 
he kicked at one and another object that he passed on 


106 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


the sheep-trail. He was saying to himself as they 
went farther and farther from his sight: 

“I want to go, too. Oh, I do want to go ! But she 
is my good mother, and I must stay and help now. 
Some day I can go.” 


HIS BIBLE LESSON 


F OR four Sundays there had been a new teacher 
in the “Corner Class,” and for four Sundays the 
boys in that class had been giving no trouble to the 
rest of the school. Mr. Brown, their own teacher, 
had gone to another state for a time, and had sent in 
his place this young man who was neither good-looking 
nor eloquent. 

Yet he had held the attention of the boys, and every 
boy was eager for the next Sunday to come. He knew 
so much about boys and their problems that they wanted 
to ask him some more questions. During the last les- 
son they had been discussing what it meant to be a 
helper of Christ, and Charles King had been asked to 
read John 21 : 15-17 before the next Sunday. Then 
he was supposed to tell the class what he had found 
there. 

It was a new thing for him to study his Bible lesson, 
but he liked this new teacher and wanted to please him, 
so on Sunday afternoon he took out his mother’s Bible 
and began to read: 

“And Jesus saith to Simon Peter, ‘Simon, son of 
Jonas, lovest thou me more than these ?’ He saith unto 
him, ‘Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee.’ He 
saith unto him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ ” 


107 


108 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


A half-hour later when father came in for tea he 
found Charles still studying his Bible lesson, for he 
had looked up some references about Peter. He wanted 
to know more about this man to whom Jesus would 
say three times, “Lovest thou me?” ’Twas a very 
interesting story and he rather enjoyed studying it. 
Father helped a bit and mother helped some more, so 
that when he had finished he was quite sure that he 
could tell that story as well as Henry Mead had told 
the one assigned to him. 

Monday morning he was on his way to school when 
he met a boy whom he disliked very much. He was 
a foreign boy and Charles was just about to call him 
a mean name when he heard a voice say: 

“Charles, lovest thou me? Then work for me. 
Show this boy that you love me” 

You may be sure that he thought very hard for a 
minute. Never before had he thought that joining 
the church on Easter Sunday and taking the name of 
Christian for his own had meant showing his love for 
Christ on the street — especially to a foreign boy. But 
he was very sure that was what Jesus meant when 
he was talking to Peter. “Feed my lambs” meant “Do 
a kindness.” Of one thing he was very sure — he did 
love the Christ. 

So he called cheerily across the street: 

“Oh, John, did you get the hard problem solved all 
right ?” 

“No,” said the boy. “You know I never had most 
of the arithmetic that you fellows have had, so now 


HIS BIBLE LESSON 


109 


I just can’t do some of these problems. I did my best, 
but I know I am going to get a scolding and perhaps 
be put back a year. I am sorry for mother’s sake, for 
it means a lot for her to send me to school.” 

“Come on across,” said Charles. “I can show you 
this in just a minute, and then after school I’ll explain 
to you what you don’t understand. Problems are easy 
for me, so I am sure I can help you.” 

So the problem was explained after school, and the 
old feeling of dislike just seemed to fade away as 
the American boy came to understand the foreign boy. 

On Wednesday the teacher seemed tired and cross, 
while Charles felt full of mischief. So he was just 
preparing to tease her and see if he could make tears 
come into her eyes again, as he had done once before, 
when he heard a voice say : 

“Charles, lovest thou me ? Then help to make it easy 
for one who loves me. Show that you love me.” 

Oh, oh ! This was harder than the first time when 
the voice had spoken. The boys were waiting for him 
to begin the fun. Surely one could have some fun even 
though he was trying to be a Christian. But he had 
heard the voice, and now it would be hard to have the 
fun he had planned. 

So, instead, he was not only kind himself but he 
helped others to be kind and lessons were the order 
of the day instead of mischief. Just as school was 
out he heard the superintendent say: 

“Miss Loran, won’t you please stay at home tomor- 
row and care for your mother ? I know how worried 


110 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


you must be. We shall get along somehow. Charles 
will help, won’t you, sonny?” 

And to his delight Miss Loran answered, “Charles 
has helped all day today and when he helps, all the rest 
do. Mother is very ill and I thank you for being kind.” 

Oh, my ! How glad he was the voice had spoken to 
him! It was a thoughtful boy who went along the 
road to his home that night. He was beginning to 
understand that even a boy had to show his love for 
the Christ. 

Saturday came and he was to go for a picnic. Mother 
had promised him lunch for three of his friends, and 
father had promised to take them early in the morning 
to a good fishing hole and leave them there. For weeks 
he had looked forward to this day. But when he looked 
from the window the rain was coming down in torrents. 
So he was about as much disappointed as a boy could 
very well be. 

When he went down to breakfast there seemed 
nothing to do but to take his spite out on the people 
whom he met. So he said a cross thing to his mother ; 
then he slapped at his brother, and then he was just 
ready to slam a door as hard as ever he could when 
he heard a voice say: 

“Charles, lovest thou me? Then be kind. Show 
that you love me.” 

He stood still for a moment, and then went out of 
the door and up to his room. There he sat down and 
reread that part of the book of John again. Three 
times Jesus had asked Peter if he loved him. Three 


HIS BIBLE LESSON 


111 


times Peter had told him that he did, and three times 
Jesus had told him to prove it. 

Three times this week he had heard a voice saying 
to him, “Charles, lovest thou me? Then prove it.” 
Surely it meant a lot to have to keep proving that one 
loved Christ. Long he sat there, thinking more seri- 
ously than he had ever thought in all the sixteen years 
of his life. The teacher had said last Sunday that God 
still spoke to people through their conscience and now 
he believed it, for surely he had heard a voice. Perhaps 
God hadn’t really known before that he meant his 
Easter pledge. One must prove his love by what he 
did every day. 

As he sat in his room thinking about it, he was 
looking at a picture of the Christ which hung on the 
walls of his room. It had been given to him at 
Christmas time and it had helped to make his decision 
to join the church at Easter time. 

His mother’s voice sounded from the floor below, 
asking him to do an errand for her, so he rose to go. 
But he stopped as he came directly in front of the 
picture. Then he smiled into the face of the Christ 
as he said loyally: 

“All right. I am ready to prove to you that I love 
you. I just didn’t know before that you wanted me 
to do it that way. No one had told me about it. I’ll 
try if you will show me the way as you have this week. 
I’ll be glad to try.” 

So Charles King found the message of his Bible 
lesson. 



THE COURAGE OF A REFUGEE 


O UT under the blazing Grecian sun the Armenian 
refugee camp stood, bare and cheerless. The 
shelters were only the barracks used by the Canadian 
soldiers during the war. All about them played the 
little children with their thin bodies and old faces. 
Some had little clothing; some were very dirty; all 
showed lack of food. 

Within the camp there was disorder and confusion, 
for many families must live in the same room. Some 
had a little furniture which they had brought from 
their old homes; some had only blankets and clothing 
given them by their good friends of the American Red 
Cross. On the face of every mother in the group there 
were lines of worry and sorrow and toil. Oh, how 
long it had been since they were first driven from their 
homes more than three years before! 

On the side of one of the huts sat a group of boys 
thirteen and fourteen years of age. They, too, were 
refugees with little to do except sit about the huts and 
talk. They had searched for nlany hours for work to do 
in the nearby city, but work was scarce and laborers 
plenty, so they had been unsuccessful. It was easy 
to see that the leader of the group was Hotep, an 
Armenian. 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


114 < 

Now Hotep was a study to the Red Cross workers. 
He had come with his mother to the camp nearly two 
months before and he had given the workers no end 
of trouble. He quarreled with the children and tor- 
mented them in mean little ways. He stole food when 
he could find it; he refused to work well when some- 
thing was found for him to do. He seemed to hate 
everything and everybody except the group of boys 
whom he led. 

And now a more serious problem had come. A num- 
ber of the families were to be taken soon to Thrace 
and placed on little plots of land there. Hotep’s 
mother, with her many children, had been chosen as 
one of those who should go. But Hotep said no, and 
trouble was brewing. So he sat on the box near the 
hut, telling the boys what he would and would not do. 
Just as he was in the midst of it, a voice called: 

“Hotep ! Hotep ! May I speak with you ?” 

It was the head nurse from the children’s hospital in 
the camp and Hotep really admired her, though no one 
would ever have suspected it. He had watched her 
as she worked over the sick ones in the camp; he 
admired her sympathy and her skill and her power 
to endure hard things. So he rose to answer. 

She was standing on the step of her little room in 
the hospital and she drew the boy within. 

“I have a little time to myself now, Hotep, and I 
thought I should like to talk to you. I am much 
interested in you and your mother. Would you mind 
telling me a little of what you remember of these last 


THE COURAGE OF A REFUGEE 115 


five years? I should like to know a little about your 
father. Was he a brave man?” 

The boy’s face instantly showed a struggle. Should 
he be stubborn, or should he tell her? Indeed, his 
father was a brave man, and he had loved him dearly. 
Perhaps if he should say he couldn’t remember or he 
didn’t want to talk about it, as he had told the rest 
of the workers, she might think he had had a poor 
father. He sat on the bench thinking it over while she 
answered a telephone call and by the time she was 
ready, he had decided to tell her the story. But how 
should he begin? He was trying to find a way, but 
when she turned about and offered him some home- 
made candy from a plate somehow it seemed easy all 
at once. 

“Yes, nurse,” he began, “I did have a brave father. 
He was so strong and so good and so faithful. Nurse, 
you would have loved my father.” 

“I am sure I should have liked him very much,” said 
the nurse, “for your mother says you are like him, and 
I have loved you since the very first day you came.” 

Hotep dropped his hat and stood staring at the nurse. 

“You loved me then, when I was so dirty and ragged? 
You love me now? How can you, when I have been 
so mean about the camp? How can you?” 

“Because I know you aren’t showing your real self,” 
said the nurse. “Your real self is good and strong 
and brave and faithful, like your father, I am very sure. 
The boys see it and so you lead them, for boys never 
follow weak cowards. Often I have wondered why 


116 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


you hid your real self from me when I had done you 
no harm and was trying to be kind to your family. 
You have the makings of a hero, I am sure.” 

Just then the bell rang and she was called aside. 
So Hotep had time to think about what she had said. 
Mother had told her that he was like his father. Well, 
there was a time when he did try to be just like him, 
and he and father were good chums. Father had been, 
and still was, his hero. What was the matter ? Why 
had he been so ugly? 

When the nurse came back she found a changed boy 
waiting for her. Waiting for her to be seated, he said: 

“I should like to tell you about father, and then 
perhaps you can tell me why I have been unlike him.” 

So he told her of their little home in Armenia before 
the Turk had come to drive them from it. He told 
of the dreadful day of the massacre, when nine thou- 
sand of the villagers had taken what little they could 
carry and had fled for their lives. He told of the 
bravery of his father in defending his mother and his 
grown-up sister, and how his father had died from 
the wounds of the Turks. He told of his anguish 
when they had to leave him by the side of the road, 
unburied and alone. 

For a moment there was silence, and the boy’s body 
shook with sobs as he lived over that dreadful day. 
Then he told of the death of a brother, the stealing 
of a sister for a Turkish harem, the long, weary marches 
in the blistering heat, and the long struggle of the little 
family just to keep themselves alive, as they had been 


THE COURAGE OF A REFUGEE 117 


driven here and there, from one place to another, for 
more than three years. 

“And even now we have nothing,” he said. “We 
have to live in a room with twenty other families. 
All the space we can have is marked off by a little white 
line. What kind of a home is that? Everything we 
have to eat has to be given to us. I haven’t been to 
school. What chance have I in the world? Life is 
not fair. It isn’t fair that some boys should have all 
and some should have none. I hate life. Why should 
I try? What is there to try for? What is the use, 
nurse? What is the use of trying when you have 
nothing in life to look forward to?” 

The eyes of the boy flashed as he asked his questions. 
For answer the nurse bent nearer to him and said : 

“No, Hotep, life doesn’t seem fair in these hard days. 
But, sonny, as long as you live you must live with 
yourself. Do you think you always want to live with 
a coward? Your father preferred to live with a hero, 
and you could be like him if you would. Just now 
you are surely playing the part of a coward in the 
camp, for you do not do that which you know to be 
right. Think it over, Hotep, and then come back and 
talk it over with me. The bell is ringing for the 
children’s milk and I must go. Stay as long as you 
like here in my room.” 

Then she put the plate of candy close beside him on 
the table and left him alone. 

At the twilight hour she was sitting to rest after her 


118 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


long, hard day, when there came a knock at her door 
and Hotep came in. 

“Nurse,” he said, “what would a hero do if he 
were I?” 

“What do you think he would do?” she asked kindly. 

“I think he would have to go to Thrace and take 
father’s place and try to make a home for mother. 
But I hate a farm and I hate the country, and I don’t 
want to go. You aren’t going to ask me to go, are 
you?” cried the boy. 

“I am going to ask you to do nothing,” said the 
nurse. “What you do will be only what you yourself 
choose to do. I wonder, Hotep, if doing just the things 
one wants to do is the way a hero is made? Do you 
want to be a hero?” 

“Yes, I do. I really do. I want to live with a hero, 
for I hate a coward. I want to be like father,” said 
the boy, looking her frankly in the eye. 

“Then come in and let us see what you want to do,” 
and she drew him again into the little room. She 
talked to him of the possibilities of making the home 
in Thrace ; of the happiness which he could bring back 
into the face of his mother; of the safety he could give 
to his sisters if they had a home of their own. Then 
she told him of the kindness of the Red Cross in saving 
the life of the family so that they could all grow up 
together. She showed him how much easier it would 
be for him to grow up clean and strong and good, away 
from all the temptations of the city. 

And as she talked he knew that she had meant what 


THE COURAGE OF A REFUGEE 119 


she said earlier in the day. She really did love him 
and wanted to help him. Her hand on his shoulder 
seemed to fill him with courage and he wished it might 
stay there to keep him strong. There was a big, big 
lump in his throat and a big, big resolve in his heart 
when he said good-night to her and went to the dreary 
hut to sleep. 

Two days later, very early in the morning, a long line 
of ox-carts drew up in front of the refugee camp. 
One by one, they were filled with the few belongings 
of refugee families, and on the top of the loads climbed 
the women and children. Oh, it was a pitiful sight as 
they prepared to go to their new home in Thrace ! 
What was the future to bring? Only God knew 
whether it was to be happiness or suffering. 

And the nurse, coming for the day, saw, leaning far 
out over one load, a boy of fourteen. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t get here,” he said. “I 
am going to Thrace, and I am going to make good. 
I am going to live with a hero. Good-by, nurse. I am 
glad I came to see you. Thank you for helping me 
to see.” 

“A boy begins to be a hero the very moment he 
begins to be strong and brave,” she answered with a 
glad smile. “Good-by, Sir Hero. Good luck to you ! 
I am so glad you and I are friends ! I shall write to 
you soon. Good-by, sonny!” 

Slowly the ox-carts started their long, weary journey, 
and a boy on the load was waving first to the gang 
whom he had led and then to the nurse whom he loved. 


120 AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 

“She called me sonny, and she called me hero, and 
she said she would write to me. Guess those three 
things are worth going to Thrace to get,” he said. 
“I wish I had known her before.” 

And the nurse, watching the carts turn the bend in 
the road, said softly to herself : 

“Brave little Hotep! You have won your first hard 
fight. You have the makings of a hero, even though 
you are only an Armenian refugee. It is a long, hard 
road that is ahead of you, but it is the way that will 
make you like your father — a hero.” 


HIS PENANCE 


T HE city was guarded closely; the shutters of the 
houses were closed; the streets were empty and 
desolate, for a giant was abroad in the land. 

He was very strong and powerful, yet no one saw 
him. He was feared by both great and small, yet he 
carried no sword or gun. He came at will into houses 
of rich and poor, and none could stop him. 

Wherever he went there was sorrow and death. 
And the call had gone out through the land for help 
in conquering him. So from north and south and east 
and west the volunteers came. Some were old and 
some were young; some were men and some were 
women; but all were eager to help, just as in the days 
of the knights. 

Some called the giant “Plague”; some called him 
“Epidemic”; all called him “Sickness.” For weeks 
he had held reign in the city of Memphis, and the 
country round was filled with fear and suffering as 
the inhabitants of the city grew less and less in number. 

One day there came to the doctor in charge a strange- 
looking man. His hair was cut very close to his head. 
When he walked, one could hear the shuffling of his 
feet. When spoken to, he answered with his eyes upon 
the ground. His clothes were ragged and dirty. 


121 


1 22 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


The doctor supposed him to be a man who needed 
help, so he asked him what he needed; but instead of 
asking for anything, he said huskily: 

“Doctor, I want to nurse the sick. I know how.” 

“But I cannot use you,” said the doctor, turning 
away. 

“Please give me a chance to help somebody,” pleaded 
the man. “I don’t care where it is or how sick they 
are. I want to nurse somebody. Try me for one 
week, and then if you don’t like me you can dismiss 
me. If you do, you can pay me. Please try me.” 

Something in his voice made the doctor realize that 
the young man needed the work, so he said: 

“Well, you may try. Go down to the hospital and 
tell them to clean you up and give you clothes. Then 
report for duty.” 

So he went to work. In the parts of the city where 
the fever raged the hardest he was found. The doctors 
marveled at his strength and endurance. He was most 
skillful and showed a knowledge of medicine. He 
seemed to be never weary of helping those who needed 
him. 

During the day he cared for those who were paying 
him; at night he would steal away into the slum sec- 
tions and care for the neglected ones. Over and over 
and over he gave the cup of cold water to those who 
needed it, and all through the city he came to be 
known and honored. 

So weeks and weeks went by until he, too, took the 
dreadful sickness and died. The city, as a man, 


HIS PENANCE 


123 


mourned the death of their friend, and wished they 
knew where his friends might be found, that they might 
send the body home to them. But he had told no one 
from whence he had come or where his home had been. 

So they planned to bury him in the city which he 
had helped so much. Then when the body was made 
ready for burial, they learned a secret which he had 
guarded so carefully. On his arm they found a deep 
red mark — the sign of a convicted felon. In a box in 
his room they found all the money that he had earned, 
put away in a box for the needy of the city. He had 
given himself and his means to show that he was still 
worthy of trust. 

So he changed his sentence. The courts had branded 
him a felon. But he had been given a chance to try 
again, and he had died a victor over himself and a 
friend of the needy. 






















A 




































THE SPHINX 


I T WAS nearly midnight and the African desert 
was very still, except for the place where twelve 
tents were pitched and a little group of Arabs were 
preparing a sumptuous supper. In the largest of the 
tents a long table was set, and the great plates of 
watermelon and grapes looked very tempting to the 
passerby. 

In the bright moonlight the men moved back and 
forth, seeing that all was ready for their guests. Their 
black robes flapped about their feet as they walked. 
The brightly colored scarfs about their heads made a 
patch of color here and there on the scene. 

Only one boy was among them — Mohammed, a boy 
of seventeen, the son of the dragoman who was bring- 
ing the American party to camp for the night on the 
desert. His face was strong and resolute. His bear- 
ing was that of a gentleman. 

On his head he wore the red fez, but his clothing 
was European. He wore a light pongee suit, carefully 
pressed and spotless. He must look his very best, for 
the leader of this party was the man of all men whom 
his father delighted to honor; he was the man whom 
his father often called his “American brother.” When 
the leader had been in Egypt before, Mohammed was 
125 


126 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


a little boy. Now he must see that the boy had grown 
into a young man of whom his father could be proud. 
* So he wandered from tent to tent, lighting a candle 
here, smoothing a pillow there, and thinking of the 
glad surprise there would be when the party should 
arrive and find all this comfort on the desert. 

“Ah!” he said as he looked once more into the 
dining-tent. “Only twice before has this tent been 
used — when the Khedive journeyed in father’s care, 
and again when the Prince of Saxony was here. How 
beautiful it is with all its rare Egyptian patchwork 
lining! Father loves to honor the Americans. I 
wonder if I shall like them also. Perhaps they can 
tell me some of the things about which I am thinking. 
I wish I knew what I should be five years from now.” 

A sound of wheels and a sand cart appeared, closely 
followed by ten or more donkeys. Then a dozen 
camels slowly brought up the rear, swaying along with 
their tired riders, all eager to dismount. For many 
miles all had ridden across the desert in the moonlight, 
so the little tents looked wonderfully attractive to them 
now. 

Mohammed listened to them as they looked into the 
tents and wondered how so many things could have 
been made ready for them. He listened to their happy 
laughter as they gathered about the table, but he kept 
outside in the moonlight. Father had said that some 
were ministers and professors. So, boylike, he was 
afraid of them. 

He listened as they planned for the trip of the next 


THE SPHINX 


127 


morning, and, one by one, went to their tents. Then 
his heart gave a bound of delight. His father was 
telling a small group of the Americans that he would 
gladly walk with them the half mile to the Sphinx so 
that they could see it by the moonlight. Here was 
his chance. He, too, would go. 

So, although the clock had already struck an hour 
after midnight, the little party started across the sands 
— the father, the boy, four strong Arabs and, in their 
care, three ladies and a young man of the party. Ahead 
of them the Great Pyramid reared its head with two 
smaller ones near it. The night was almost as light 
as day. The walk was one long to be remembered. 

And as they went, Mohammed found himself telling 
them of his life in, and love for, the mission school in 
Cairo; of the kindness of the teachers and the inspi- 
ration which their lives gave to him; of his desire to 
be a leader some day. How easy it was to talk to them ! 
Mohammed was very happy. 

And so they came, all too quickly, to the Great Pyra- 
mid and then to its neighbor, the Sphinx. The moon- 
light played over its face, and the great figure seemed 
ready to speak. Far away in the distance hired 
mourners were wailing for the dead, and their cries 
added to the weirdness of the scene. From the desert 
nearby two other Arabs appeared like ghosts in the 
night. They were guardians of the desert treasures. 
Everywhere there was quiet and loneliness near the 
Sphinx. In every direction one saw only sand and the 
massive piles of the pyramids. 


128 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


Awed by the scene, the visitors sat down on the 
sand. It was beautiful beyond description; it was one 
of the rare things that would come in a lifetime. For 
a long time no one spoke. Finally the father leaned 
toward the visitors and said: 

“It is very, very old now — one of the oldest monu- 
ments in the world, and it will last forever. It is well 
made, of good material, and on sure foundations, so 
it must stand. You are fortunate in seeing our Sphinx 
at its best — in the moonlight. But you are tired and 
we must return to the tents.” 

The night grew old and the chill of the desert fell 
on the visitors and their guides as they recrossed the 
desert. Mohammed was telling of his desire to make 
his life count in the better day in Egypt when his race 
should have good schools and all be required to get 
an education. 

“Do you think I can do it?” he asked. “Can I be 
an honor to my race? How can I get ready ? It seems 
as if it were asking much to have father keep me in 
school so long, though he wants me to go. Is there 
a better way?” 

For answer one of the Americans pointed back to 
the Sphinx standing steady and distinct in the moon- 
light, and said: 

“Let your father’s own words answer your question, 
Mohammed. ‘It is well made, of good material, and 
on sure foundation, so it must stand.’ What is true 
of the Sphinx is doubly true in the life of a boy. Good 
health and a trained mind will make your life live 


THE SPHINX 


129 


forever, if you choose to use your power for that which 
is highest and best in life. Look again behind you. 
The old Sphinx looks toward the new day. Keep your 
mind fixed on the future and build carefully in mind 
and body and soul. Careless work is soon destroyed.” 

“Thank you,” answered the boy. “Study is easy 
when there is a reason for it. I will get ready.” 

The camp was reached and soon all were asleep in 
the cozy little tents, while the moon shone into the 
faces of the Arabs who guarded them so carefully. 
In the distance the dear old Sphinx looked for the 
sunrise as it has looked for four thousand years, and 
waited for others to whom it could, by its age and its 
strength and its beauty, give, as it had given to Moham- 
med, strength and inspiration to build carefully and for 
the future. 

And who could ask for a greater mission? 































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* 





























< 






V 







THE SAFE CHOICE 


C HOOSE your ideal and I will show you a man 
of your choice,” said the guardian spirit as she 
talked with the boys in the way. 

“Give me strength,” said one. And he saw the 
prize-fighter in all his vulgarity, amusing the crowds. 
He was strong. 

“Give me courage,” said another. And he saw the 
burglar flashing his lantern into the safe in the very 
block with the officers of the law. He was not afraid. 

“Give me fame,” said another. And he saw the 
picture of the man whose name was on every tongue 
because he had caused a world war. He was famous. 

“Give me skill,” said another. And he saw the 
forger making the bank notes that should defy the 
government and bring trouble and shame. He was 
skillful. 

“Give me mental ability,” said another. But he 
saw the man whose mind planned the use of the sub- 
marine and poisonous gases to cause untold suffering. 
He could think well. 

“Give me gold,” said another. And he saw a lonely 
miser, hated by all, yet with gold in abundance. He 
had gold. 

“Give me business ability,” said another. And he 

131 


132 


AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 


saw the head of a great corporation cornering the 
wheat, doing that which would cause many to be 
hungry and die. 

“Give me the ideal of Christ,” said another. 

“And what might that be?” said all the boys in 
unison. 

For answer they saw a picture of the Christ. He 
was young and stalwart. And below it was written 
these words : 

“And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in 
favor with God and man.” 

“Courage and strength and mind and skill are in- 
cluded, you see,” said the spirit. “Money and fame 
and gold may come, but do not always. To grow in 
mind and body and to keep friends with God and Man 
— that is the ideal of the Christ. It has been the choice 
of the world’s greatest men. It is still the choice of 
those that are thoughtful. It is greater than all other 
choices. It is the safe choice.” 

Then the guardian spirit went on her way, but the 
picture remained with the boys. It was worth while 
to know what choice might include all the rest. It 
was a good thing to remember what choice great men 
had made. 


THE END 











































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